


Twin Magic

by kareokebabe25



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Hermione Granger, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mystery, Platonic Soulmates, Plot Twists, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Slow Burn, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 57,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26625160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kareokebabe25/pseuds/kareokebabe25
Summary: Fred and George were never meant to be apart for long. After the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione, Harry, and the Weasleys say goodbye to those they've lost, including Fred. When Hermione receives an owl from George asking for her help with a mysterious project, she soon discovers that the twins have one more trick up their sleeve.Hermione's got a past with Fred, Harry and Draco have sexual tension, and Umbridge turns up to mess everything up again!
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
Comments: 82
Kudos: 139





	1. Original Pranksters

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my very first fic ever, so please be kind :) It'll be a slow burn Fredmione with an eventual heaping side of Drarry. Beta-less, so all mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy!

“Fred! George!” An exasperated Molly Weasley bellowed from the hallway. Fred and George looked at each other, each one tucked in their twin bed and wearing matching fleece pajamas with quaffles, bludgers, and snitches on them. They giggled, but hushed quickly and put on innocent faces as soon as their mother barged into their room, carrying their baby sister Ginny, who was red-faced and wailing.

“Can you explain why this—” she held up a deflated Whoopee Cushion, “—was lying under your sister’s blanket? I had just gotten her to sleep, laid her down and off it goes!” Ginny continued to wail, and the brothers snickered to each other.

“Bad timing, mum,” said George innocently.

“Yeah, it’s almost like someone planned it that way,” Fred mused.

“I bet it was Percy, he’s quite the pwankster,” George offered helpfully. George still couldn’t say his “r’s” and “l’s” properly; they always came out like “w’s.” Fred had been trying to coach him—they’d spent an hour that day sitting on the floor across from each other with Fred demonstrating slowly and clearly—“Fred”—and George repeating—“Fwed”—over and over again until Molly had finally roared, “Enough!,” given them their toy broomsticks, and sent them to the yard.

Molly huffed indignantly. “Just you wait, I’ll be back for you two,” she said menacingly, then returned to Ginny’s room for another attempt at getting her to sleep.

George looked over at Fred. “I wish they made a Whoopee Cushion that would disappear after it goes off,” he whispered.

“Or flew away!” Fred said excitedly.

“Yeah!” 

When Molly finally returned, the twins were still awake. She sighed and sat down on Fred’s bed. “Boys, I know you don’t mean any harm, but you’ve got to learn where to draw the line! You really scared your poor sister.”

Fred looked genuinely rueful. “We’re sowwy Mum. We were just pwaying,” he said reassuringly.

Molly looked at him and smiled. “Thank you for apologizing, George.”

“I’m Fwed!” Fred nearly shouted.

Molly hushed him. “Shhh, you’ll wake her again! You can’t fool me, George,” she said knowingly. Fred looked at George and winked. George chuckled, but then cleared his throat when Molly looked at him.

“Yeah Mum, we won’t do it again,” George promised.

“Good,” said Molly, getting up to leave. “Goodnight, boys. Lights out.”

“But Mum!” exclaimed George, earning another shush from his mother. “Can’t we hear another stowy?”

“Yeah, about Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon! Please?” said Fred excitedly, forgetting to affect his brother’s speech impediment.

Molly looked between the two of them as if she couldn’t tell which twin was which anymore, and then sighed as if she’d decided she didn’t particularly care at that moment. “Alright,” she assented, sitting back down on Fred’s bed. George scuttled out of his covers and over to Fred’s bed to join them.

“Your uncles Fabian and Gideon were two of the most prolific pranksters Hogwarts has ever seen,” Molly began. Fred and George looked at each other excitedly. “I remember one prank in particular in their seventh year—now I was out of school at this point, mind you, but I remember when the letter came explaining what the boys did, your nan and grandad were the angriest I’ve ever seen them!” She laughed.

“What did they do?” Fred asked. The boys looked at Molly wide-eyed.

“Well,” she said, pausing and leaning in to whisper, “they decided to play a prank on Professor Slughorn, the potions professor and head of Slytherin house. Apparently Gideon switched Slughorn’s stock of ashwinder eggs with fire seeds while Fabian distracted Slughorn by trying to convince him he was the great Quidditch player Hugh Dolenby’s nephew. I’m told he even transfigured his nose slightly to look more like Dolenby’s.” Fred and George chuckled. “When their potions class was making Felix Felicis—which is a good luck potion, boys—the fire seeds reacted poorly with the occamy eggshells and everyone’s potions exploded.” The boys’ eyes grew as wide as possible as they held back their laughter. “No one was hurt, fortunately, but since Fabian and Gideon’s potions were the only ones that didn’t explode, Slughorn knew who had done the deed,” Molly said, almost as a warning to her two young troublemakers. She looked at them and her eyes began to glisten. “You remind me so much of them sometimes. They always used to try to trick us by switching names—they were so in sync, they often finished each other’s sentences. It was as if they each knew what the other was thinking, like they shared one brain, or one soul even. In a way, it’s best they went out together.” She breathed a shaky breath. “I don’t think either of them could have lived without the other.” Fred and George looked at each other and nodded—though they were only five years old, they understood perfectly.

George reached out and held his mother’s hand. “It’s okay, Mum,” he said.

She sighed and held both boys close. “I wish you’d had more time with them,” she said sadly. “I can’t believe it’s been two years already.”

“They were brilliant,” Fred said fervently. “We’ll be just like them Mum, you’ll see.”

“Oh, my sweet boys,” Molly said, holding them close. “You’re so much like them already—I just hope you get into a little less trouble than they did,” she said seriously, although a slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Now, bed. Goodnight boys.” Fred lay awake long after Molly had turned out the lights, thinking of the many adventures of his brave, mischievous uncles and wondering what sort of adventures he and his brother would have at Hogwarts.

~*oOo*~

Hermione smoothed out her black robes as she sat in a folding chair on the Hogwarts grounds. This was not the first funeral she had attended in the week since the Battle of Hogwarts—in fact, Lupin and Tonk’s joint service had been held just that morning. But this funeral was perhaps the most difficult. She looked at Ron next to her. His face was pale and stoic, but splotched with red from crying, and he was breathing deep shaky breaths. She took his hand and squeezed it; he looked at her gratefully.

Hermione turned her attention to the podium beside the casket as George approached it. Hermione noticed that Bill and Percy could barely look at George, while Charlie and Ginny were openly weeping as they stared up at him. _His face is a reminder of what they’ve lost,_ she thought painfully. _What we’ve all lost._

George cleared his throat, his voice thick when he spoke. “I don’t really know how to properly honor my brother,” he said at last. “I think if he were up here, he’d be making a joke right now,” he muttered almost to himself, and this seemed to steel his resolve. He went on, “He was a hero—but others have spoken about that,” he gestured to Harry, who smiled encouragingly at him. “He was clever—cleverer than anyone knew, I think. He figured out how to make most of our Wizard Wheezes work—the singing mistletoe and the flying Whoopee Cushion…” George nearly laughed, a hollow sound. “He delighted in making people laugh. We dreamed of owning a shop that would bring laughter to everyone who visited it, and now I will carry on with what we started. It’s what my brother would have wanted.” He paused and took a steadying breath. Hermione felt her eyes brimming and tried to hold herself together, for Ron. For Fred. “Goodbye, Fred. I know we’ll be together again someday.” George lingered for a moment, looking at the casket, and then returned to his seat next to his mother, who wrapped her arms around him, her shoulders shaking. Arthur patted his wife’s shoulder and nodded at his son, his eyes glistening.

Hermione saw Harry whisper something in Ginny’s ear, then kiss her gently as he and the Weasley boys stood to perform their pall bearer duty. Ron gave Hermione a quick kiss before he stood. “Thanks,” he said, clearly struggling to speak, “for—you know—”

“Being there for you?” Hermione offered helpfully. “Anytime.” Ron managed a doleful smile, then stood to join his brothers and Harry. Hermione and the rest of the attendees followed as they carried Fred’s casket to the small cemetery just on the outskirts of Hogsmeade.

As they walked in silence, Hermione noticed the others in attendance. Other than family, it was mostly Hogwarts professors and former students. Professors McGonagall and Sprout were walking beside each other with stoic faces, while Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Oliver Wood clumped together, looking sometimes as though they were physically leaning on each other for support. Hermione turned her head to glance behind herself, and spied a familiar blond with a sneering look. She turned back around quickly, shocked that Draco Malfoy would show his face here. A Death Eater at a war hero’s funeral? When she chanced another look, she saw that his face was drawn and weary, though he was attempting to hide this behind his usual haughty expression. He walked far behind everyone else, as though he didn’t want anyone to know he was there. _Why did he come at all then?_ Hermione thought. _He’s always hated the Weasleys._

They assembled at the cemetery, recently booming in population after the Hogwarts battle. Hermione noticed George opening and closing a pocket watch as he watched his brother’s casket being levitated and lowered into the ground. He was far away, but Hermione thought she had detected an etching of a dragon and a lion emerging from an egg on the cover of the watch. She smiled tearfully. She noticed Angelina and Katie hugging each other, and was reminded of a Hogwarts night not too long ago.

~*oOo*~

“Katie, you look gorgeous!” Angelina cried as Katie twirled in her dress.

Katie smiled broadly. “So do you Ang—we clean up pretty nicely when we’re not on the Quidditch pitch, don’t we boys?” she asked their dates, who were still fiddling with their ties.

“Yeah, ‘course you do,” said Fred impatiently.

“But what about us?” George asked.

“You don’t meet gents this dapper every day,” Fred smirked. He and George shared a look. They’d transfigured their appalling hand-me-down dress robes into relatively suitable evening wear, and felt they deserved a little ogling from their dates. Fred ran a pale hand through his wild, longish red hair, which he had tamed into smooth waves, and his twinkling brown eyes met Angelina’s as he winked at her.

Angelina and Katie rolled their eyes. “Yes, you’re both lovely too,” Angelina said teasingly. “Now let’s get going! I wanna get you on the dance floor and see those moves we’ve heard so much about.”

“Oh yeah, we’ve got moves,” George slipped an arm around Katie’s waist and led her to the portrait hole, eliciting a small giggle from her.

“Moves like you’ve never seen,” Fred asserted, whirling Angelina around and catching her, swooping her in a low dip as she blinked, a bit stunned. Fred laughed and looked up, seeing Hermione at the bottom of the stairs to the girls’ dormitory in striking periwinkle-blue robes that perfectly complemented her rich brown skin. Her normally bushy hair was smooth and sleek, falling in gentle waves around her shoulders.

Fred nearly dropped Angelina out of surprise, but caught her just in time. She laughed, “Almost getting dropped on my arse? Yeah, that is a new move, Weasley,” she mocked. She stood up and turned to look at Hermione. “You look stunning!” she exclaimed to a beaming Hermione. “Ready, Fred?”

“Always, Angelina! Nice robes, Hermione,” Fred said as casually as he could, still shocked at how beautiful she looked. He’d always thought of her as his kid brother’s friend. He turned to Angelina and grinned winningly. “You know I never would have dropped you, Ang. You’re in good hands tonight,” he assured her as he wiggled his fingers, making reds sparks fly from the tips. Angelina rolled her eyes again and dragged him through the portrait hole just as he heard Hermione call after them, “Well, thank you, but don’t make any trouble, Fred!” 

Later, Fred and Angelina whirled their way back to their table where George and Katie sat, exhausted from so many dances and snickering at Marcus Flint, who was dancing with Pansy Parkinson so stiffly “it looked like he had a broomstick up his arse!” Angelina chortled. Fred laughed, noticing Angelina’s brilliant smile and thinking how he might attempt a snog later on. Just as he was thinking it, Angelina looked at him and said, “Well, I think I’ve officially danced my last. Walk me back to the common room?”

Fred grinned. “I’d be delighted—I even know of a shortcut you might enjoy.”

“To the tower?” Angelina furrowed her brow. “Isn’t it quickest just to take the stairs?”

“Of course not—it’s much quicker to take the secret passage behind Wulfric the Beleaguered that leads to the secluded back courtyard under the twinkling stars,” Fred informed her. Angelina smiled, suddenly understanding. As he grabbed her hand and led her away, he heard George saying to Katie, “My brother’s wrong—the quickest way back to Gryffindor Tower is through the portrait of the dancing nymphs to the cozy den with plush seating and a roaring fire—most people don’t even know it’s there.” Fred chuckled and led Angelina out of the Great Hall.

Just as he and Angelina approached the statue that guarded the secret passage, Fred heard a sniffle beside them. He looked in an alcove and saw a wisp of periwinkle-blue behind a heavy green curtain. He turned to Angelina and said, “Why don’t you go ahead and I’ll meet you in a minute? Password is ‘Nostradamus.’” Angelina looked as though she were about to refuse and Fred swiftly added, “I just think she could use a laugh, is all. Won’t be long,” he promised. Angelina still looked a bit skeptical, but nodded and headed for the statue of Wulfric the Beleaguered.

“Hermione?” Fred peered into the alcove and saw her hiding behind the curtain, her eyes red. “I take it you caught Snape and Pince dancing together earlier—it nearly reduced me to tears too,” he said gravely. She laughed and rubbed her nose. Fred went on, “What are you doing here, Hermione? Shouldn’t you be whirling around on the arm of your international Quidditch superstar?”

Hermione snorted. “I suppose. I just—Ron was such an arse, and I can’t stop—” she broke off and stifled a snob.

Fred nodded, “Yes, my brother can be king of the gits at times. I don’t know what he said to you, but—you know why he’s acting this way, don’t you?”

She scoffed, “Well, he’s clearly jealous of me getting to spend time with Victor; he practically fawns over him, it’s grotesque.”

Fred shook his head—how had such a clever girl missed such an obvious fact? “It’s not you he’s jealous of, love. He’s jealous of Krum. Because Ron likes you,” he added, as Hermione still looked incredulous. “He’s got a tragic way of showing it, but he clearly does.” He gave her an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “C’mon Hermione, cheer up—don’t let my idiot baby brother ruin your evening just because he’s got the emotional range of a teaspoon.”

Hermione laughed brightly, looking up at him with still-red eyes. “That’s good, I might use that.”

~*oOo*~

After Fred’s funeral, Hermione, Harry, and Ron flooed to their new home at Grimmauld Place—now that the war was over, there was no danger in staying there, and Kreacher had become quite the doting caretaker since their arrival. Hermione looked at Ron, whose face was splotched and expression unreadable. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be with your family tonight? Maybe it would be better to be together…” she trailed off, eyeing him carefully.

He sighed, “I will, tomorrow. I think I need to be alone tonight.” He walked off to his room and paused to add, “Thanks, for today. Both of you,” before disappearing up the stairs to his room.

“Of course,” Hermione called after him. She and Harry looked at each other.

“I think he’s handling it as well as can be expected,” Harry said. “He just needs time. It’s good you’re together now, Hermione. You being there for him, I’m sure it helps.”

Hermione chewed her lip. “I know, I just wish there was something I could do.” Harry smiled heavily, as though he knew exactly how she felt and could feel the weight of it himself. _Well, he’s been through more death than any of us,_ Hermione thought. _He knows the pain, the guilt of surviving—this is what he’s been talking about all these years, this horrible feeling. This feeling that it’s only cruel chance that allowed me to live when so many died; this feeling that maybe I don’t deserve it._

An owl tapping on the window interrupted her dark thoughts, and Hermione was extremely grateful to have a task. She rushed to the window to let the tawny owl in and untied the scroll from its leg. It hooted appreciatively when she offered it some treats they kept by the window and gobbled them down. Hermione unrolled the scroll, which was addressed to her:

_Hermione—need your help with a bit of a project. Meet me at the shop tomorrow at 10am? –G.W._

She flipped it over, but found that was the only message. What an odd letter to receive from George the day of his twin’s funeral. She and George had never been particularly close. Not that she and Fred had been either, really, but a bit closer than she and George, that was certain. What was this about? Maybe something Fred was working on at the shop that George couldn’t finish by himself?

“Who’s it from?” asked Harry.

“Molly,” Hermione quickly lied. “Making sure we’re coming to dinner at the Burrow on Sunday. She’s probably making sure Ron’s ok, since he didn’t go to the Burrow tonight,” she added, a bit surprised by the ease with which she was lying on the spot. After the year she’d had, she supposed it made sense—she’d had a lot more practice, what with pretending to be a criminally insane witch to sneak into Gringotts and all.

“Right,” said Harry, nodding sympathetically. “Well, tell her we’ll be there, of course.”

Hermione scribbled a quick _yes, see you tomorrow_ on the same parchment, rolled it up, and attached it to the owl’s leg. As it flew away, Hermione wondered what sort of project George was working on, and why he needed her help.


	2. Spiritus Ortum

Hermione pushed open the door to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes at 9:55am—she hated to be late. The shop had only been open for an hour but was already bustling. Hermione couldn’t see George anywhere. A pretty blonde girl wearing a WWW nametag (Verity, according to the tag) spied her. “Hermione?” she called.

“Yes!” Hermione shouted over the din of the customers.

“George said he’d be expecting you. He’s in the back.” Verity gestured to a door behind the counter. Hermione fought her way through the crowds. She noted some products she’d seen before—the Patented Daydream charm, the Headless Hats—and a few new ones. Right next to their Wonderwitch line of love potions and spot remover sat Metamorphmakeup—“Anyone can be a Metamorphmagus! Spread this powder on your nose, and voila! New nose! *nose not guaranteed to be human or more attractive than previous nose. Washes off with Metamorph Remover, sold separately.*”

Hermione chuckled as she slipped behind the register and through the door. She walked into a maze of bubbling cauldrons and blast zones where new products were being devised and tested. Various worktables sat piled high with products and papers with prototypes drawn on them. She wove her way through a row of cauldrons, each one emitting a different nose-wrinkling scent, and past a collection of fruits that began to insult her as they saw her approach. “What a swot!” “Know-it-all!” “Teacher’s pet!” “Potter’s sidekick!” They chortled, pleased with themselves.

“Oi!” George approached and performed a silencing spell on the fruit. “You wanna be fruit salad? Knock it off! Sorry Hermione,” he turned to her. “They’re meant to only insult your enemies, but they’ve turned out quite sour and taken to insulting everyone. It’s a work in progress,” he shrugged.

“Charming,” Hermione huffed. “Is that the project I’m helping you with?”

“No, that’s back here,” George said. “It’s more complicated than rude fruit. Follow me.”

Hermione followed George towards the back of the work room. “I met Verity outside,” she mentioned as they walked. “She’s quite pretty, isn’t she?” George grinned at her but said nothing. As they approached the work table, Hermione peered at the ingredients laid out on it. “Marigold petals, salamander tails, and gillyweed? Unusual.” She picked up a dark red vial. “What’s this?”

“Thestral blood,” George informed her. She turned to him, shocked, and saw him holding a large maroon leather-bound book. It looked ancient, with yellowed pages torn and eaten away at the edges, covered in spidery lettering. As Hermione stepped towards him to peer at it, she thought she saw him wave his wand over it briefly, but assured herself she must be mistaken. She looked at the cover.

“ _Healing Magick for Body and Minde?”_ She looked at George inquisitively.

“Old book my family had in the attic,” George explained. “We think it might be a book of Prewett family magic.”

Hermione had never heard of such a thing. “Do different families have different magics?”

George looked at her carefully. “Most pureblood families do—they have special spells they excel at, and they were recorded in books like these generations ago to pass on the tradition. Pureblood families have mostly kept their family magics jealously guarded and secret, so no other families could steal them. Doesn’t mean that Muggle-borns couldn’t perform this magic,” he added swiftly, “just that Prewetts will have a knack for it.”

“And Molly was a Prewett?” asked Hermione.

“Right.” George directed her attention to a particular page. “This is the potion I’d like to make.”

Hermione took the book and began to read. “Spiritus Ortum—a spirit lifter?” she asked.

“Exactly!” George exclaimed. “I just thought, with the war having just ended and so many people—losing loved ones—” Hermione looked away, finding herself unable to meet George’s eyes at that moment, “everybody could use a potion that raises your spirits, you know? I mean, it’s temporary—I know the only thing that really helps is time, but I just thought, you know… it could help a bit, right?” He looked at her almost timidly. She’d never seen George look that way before.

“Of course it could,” Hermione said reassuringly.

George beamed. “Plus, there’s a chance it just makes people float in the air,” he said brightly. “Let’s get started!” Hermione stifled a laugh and checked the instructions, then began to crush the marigold petals.

“George?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you—is this for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, or are you planning on using this… for yourself?” Hermione asked gingerly.

George looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Sorry love, I couldn’t hear you,” he said, gesturing to the hole where his ear once was before dropping three salamander tails in the cauldron.

~*oOo*~

Fred was reading intently from a large maroon book when George walked into his area of the work room. George cleared his throat, startling Fred; they’d both been more than a little jumpy since Bill and Fleur’s wedding just a week ago. “Sorry, did I frighten you?” George grinned. “Don’t be such a scaredy-Kneazle.”

Fred smirked. “If we put a bell on you like a real Kneazle, you couldn’t sneak up on people.” George was about to retort, but Fred pulled him to the work table to show him the book he had been perusing. “Take a look at this. I found it in the attic when Ron and I were transfiguring that ghoul—have you ever seen this?”

George shook his head. “Looks like it’s older than Aunt Muriel.”

Fred nodded. “Quite a bit older, I’d say. I think it may have belonged to—”

“Gideon and Fabian—I bet you’re right!” said George excitedly.

“Remember what Mum used to say about them?” Fred adopted a near-perfect Molly Weasley impression. “They were troublemakers alright—”

“It was like they shared one mind—”

“One soul, even!” They finished for each other. Fred turned to a particular page and thrust the book into George’s hands. “Look at this one.”

George squinted at the spidery writing. “Geminae Vivit? Blimey, do you really think we need this?”

Fred looked at the hole where George’s ear once was. “I think it might be a good idea—just in case.”

~*oOo*~

Hermione had boiled the last of the gillyweed, extracting its oil, and handed the vial containing it to George, who poured it into the cauldron. He stirred it counterclockwise 5 times, and the mixture turned an opaque white color. “That seems right,” he said, consulting the book. “It says we need to let this sit for two days. We won’t get much further without a unicorn hair though—would you mind picking one up for me from the apothecary tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Hermione replied, staring at the book. “Would you mind if I had a closer look at that? I’ve never even heard of family magic, and this is so fascinating.”

George smiled a bit stiffly and handed the book over. “Of course.”

She examined the cover and thumbed through the pages of spells and potions, then pointed her wand at the cover and said “ _Finite Incantatem_ ,” before George could stop her. The letters on the cover shimmered and shook. When they stopped, they no longer read _Healing Magick for Body and Minde_ but had transformed to read _Arcanum Gemini Magicae._ Hermione turned to an incredulous George with a smug look on her face. “I thought so. Care to explain?”

~*oOo*~

**a river of blue fire. a river of black water. none of the colors are right yet they are. he can see his hand but cannot feel it. nothing but cold. is it real then? he is real but not—this is the only possibility. he looks down at his stomach, sees a hole going straight through it. holey. saintlike. that’s funny—not funny. he looks around—everything he sees is dark and distorted, like looking through mottled glass. he steps toward the river of blue fire. what would happen if it he touched it? he reaches out but stops, sees a purple shadow move in the corner of his eye. shadows move on their own here—how can shadows exist without light? dark and cold seek out light and heat in the blue river. the shadow reaches out its hand-not-hand-because-real-not-real. it touches the blue fire, immediately shakes—cries—collapses—convulses on the ground, chattering teeth-not-teeth. he rushes to it, touches it. cold, like everything. what can he do? he senses a golden glow behind him. “You cannot help, Fred Weasley.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter one this week--gotta build the suspense! Leave a comment if you please, I'd love to know your thoughts :)


	3. The Pocket Watch

Fred and George sat cross-legged, facing each other on the floor of their workroom, surrounded by a circle of marigold petals. The _Arcanum Gemini Magicae_ lay open facing Fred, and he consulted the page again. “Alright, next we give each other the objects. What’ve you got?”

George removed a leather cord from around his neck and gave it to Fred, who examined the medallion attached to it. It featured a magpie, their Patronus. “I nicked it from Filch’s office a while back, and I’ve grown rather fond of it,” George explained.

Fred nodded and laid it on the ground in front of him. He pulled a gold pocket watch from his robes and handed it over to George. He didn’t relish giving it to his brother, as it meant a great deal to him; but the book said that the more the object meant to you, the better the spell would work, so it had to be the watch. George looked it over. “I’ve never seen this before—where did you get it?” he asked his twin incredulously. “This looks proper old, like a family heirloom, but it can’t be from our family. I’d’ve seen it before.”

Fred paused a beat, then said, “I found it in the Room of Requirement one day after a DA meeting. I don’t really know where it’s from, just kept it ‘cause I liked it. Lay it on the ground, let’s keep going.” George laid the pocket watch on the ground before him, staring quizzically at his brother.

Fred ignored George’s staring and carried on with the spell. “Ok, so we’ve got the items, and we’re inside the circle of marigold petals—ah,” he said, grasping a small knife beside him. “It’s time for the bloody stuff. Ready?” George nodded. Fred brought the blade of the knife to his left palm and made a small slice, wincing. He handed it over to George, who did the same while Fred looked at the book again. “Okay, now we grab hands—”

“The ones we just cut?” asked George, holding his left hand gingerly.

“Yep,” Fred said, “and we take our wands—” they both picked up their discarded wands beside them— “point them at each other, and say ‘Geminae Vivit.”

“Right,” said George, “let’s do it.”

The brothers clasped their left hands, pointed their wands at each other, and looking directly in each other’s eyes, shouted simultaneously, “Geminae Vivit!”

A silvery light, almost like a Patronus, emitted from their wands and dissipated around them in a mist. The twins and their objects started to float and then spun around each other like a carnival ride. They started slowly but eventually spun so fast that the room completely blurred, and to an outside observer, it would have looked as though the twins had merged into one person. A silver light shone from the center of the room, then split and hit each twin as they were blasted apart, each colliding with the wall at opposite sides of the room. They stood panting and glowing for a moment, then the silver light emerged from each of them as a shimmering orb. Fred watched as his orb travelled into the medallion George had given him and disappeared into it, and saw the orb that emerged from George descend into his pocket watch. The twins looked at each other, each a bit pale and breathing heavily. After a few seconds, they grinned and shouted, “That was wicked!”

~*oOo*~

“It’s called Geminae Vivit,” George was explaining to Hermione, who was feverishly reading the page containing the spell. “According to the _Arcanum,_ twins are born with a particular kind of magic where we share a bit of our souls with each other. Kind of like a horcrux—” Hermione looked up, startled, “only not, because we’re born that way, so it’s perfectly natural,” George added hastily. “I was born with a bit of Fred’s soul in me, and vice versa. Really, it’s more like we’re…” he wrinkled his nose a bit, “soulmates.”

Hermione quirked a lopsided smile to stifle her laughter. George rolled his eyes. “Anyway, it’s why we can finish each other’s sentences and almost read each other’s minds. I mean, it’s not quite mind reading like Legilimancy, but it’s like—I know what he’s going to say before he says it sometimes.” Hermione looked back down at the book, her skepticism assuaged for the moment, and George continued. “But apparently, because we’re like, soulmates or whatever you want to call it—” Hermione snorted, still looking at the book, “it’s particularly difficult for one of us to live without the other.”

Hermione looked at him again, this time with pity in her eyes. “So the book tells you how to save each other from death?” she asked, wanting to believe him but unsure. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Well,” said George, “the spell we performed took the bit of my soul that was living in Fred and put it in the medallion I gave him. And it took the bit of Fred’s soul that was living in me, and put it in this.” He removed a gold pocket watch from his robes and showed it to Hermione. Her eyes widened. “So I guess this part works like a horcrux, apart from the murder bit,” George snorted a short laugh. “We think our uncles may have performed the spell before the First Wizarding War, but they died at the same time and didn’t get a chance to resurrect each other.”

“But we can,” said Hermione breathlessly, reaching out a hand to touch the pocket watch. It hummed with a quiet energy, different than the dark malevolent pulsing of the horcruxes she’d encountered.

George nodded. “Fred is in there somewhere, and we’re going to use our potion to bring him out.”

~*oOo*~

“Here, I’ll help you,” Fred offered, waving a wand and levitating the pillows Hermione had been carrying to their spot on the shelves of the Room of Requirement. She huffed and turned around to clear more pillows. Most of the DA had already left after a successful lesson in Stunning Spells, with notable progress from Luna, Cho, and even Neville, who had managed to stun Seamus so spectacularly that he fell rigid into the pillows that had been covering the entire floor. When Seamus stood up, he was beaming and shook Neville’s hand, heartily congratulating him as Neville reddened. There’d only been one unpleasant incident, Fred thought, when he’d hit Ernie Macmillan with a nasty bat-bogey hex and received a reprimand from Hermione, since that “wasn’t the spell you were meant to be practicing anyway!” Ernie had been acting such a prat though. Fred grinned slightly at the memory of Ernie swatting at the flying green globules attacking him from all sides before Hermione rescued him.

Only Hermione, Harry, Ron, George, and Fred remained in the Room of Requirement now, Hermione clearing the pillows and Harry pondering aloud the next lesson they should do. “Perhaps Reducto, or Incarcerous could be useful, or—do you know what? I think they might be ready for the Patronus Charm!” he chattered excitedly.

Hermione exhaled sharply and turned to him. “Harry, can we talk about this later? I’ve got to clear all this,” she groused as she continued her task. The boys all raised their eyebrows at each other, wondering what had brought on this sudden mood.

“You okay, Hermione?” Ron asked tentatively.

She whirled on him fiercely. “I’d be fine if everyone would stop distracting me!” She carried another batch of pillows to the shelves. The boys shared another look and decided it was best if they make themselves scarce. Only Fred chose to hang back, telling George he’d only be a minute.

Fred levitated another bunch of pillows and plopped them on the shelves as he walked over to Hermione. “You know, you don’t have to carry them all. You are a witch, and one who’s more than a match for these pillows at that,” he said teasingly.

Hermione sniffed at him. “Magic doesn’t solve everything, you know,” she retorted as she dropped her stack of pillows on the shelves.

“Well, I don’t know—it certainly makes flying around and hexing your enemies a hell of a lot easier,” joked Fred, attempting to lighten her mood.

She bristled, her hair seeming to expand as she exploded, “Not everything is a bloody joke, Fred! This is serious! There are real dark wizards out there who want to hurt us, or possibly kill us, and you and George are fannying about with your ridiculous Skiving Sweets—”

“Snackboxes,” Fred corrected, regretting it instantly when Hermione’s expression darkened even further.

“You’re testing them on unsuspecting first years! They could get really ill or hurt, and you don’t seem to care!” Fred reddened, and Hermione continued with no end in sight. “And then you go and hex poor Ernie today for Merlin knows what reason—for a laugh, I expect—”

“No!” interrupted Fred, startling Hermione into silence. “No, I just… well he’s such a pompous prat, isn’t he? Bragging about his stupid uncle at the Ministry and showing off that watch his father gave him, he’s just… he could use being taken down a peg or two occasionally, is all,” Fred finished, looking back at Hermione. She was staring at him intensely, as if he were a puzzle she was trying to solve. It was unnerving. “What?” he finally blurted. “Is there a bat bogey in my nose?” he asked in mock embarrassment. Hermione chuckled a bit and Fred relaxed. There it was; a laugh at last. He sighed, “I know I’m being stupid and jealous, Hermione. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about the first years too, really. Only those who give us informed consent from now on,” he promised with a hand over his heart and a wink.

Hermione sighed with resignation; it wasn’t a perfect apology, but it’d do for now. She looked at him, “A watch like Ernie’s doesn’t really mean anything, you know. It’s just a symbol. Your family loves and supports you, that’s what counts,” she said sympathetically.

Fred frowned, “Yeah, some days more than others. I don’t know why it bothered me so much, I just thought—I share so much with my siblings, and even with George, and it’s fine most of the time. But it would be nice to have something that was just mine, you know?”

Hermione nodded, then closed her eyes for a few seconds, deep in thought. They heard a clatter on a bookshelf behind them and her eyes burst open. They rushed over to the shelf and saw, hanging around the neck of a bizarre stuffed crow who was perched atop a pile of ancient tattered books, was a pocket watch that hadn’t been there before. Hermione picked it up and examined it curiously, then smiled and handed it to Fred. “Here,” she said, “I think the room wants you to have this.” Fred looked at her, bewildered, and took the pocket watch. It was heavy and gold, and on the cover was a large egg which periodically cracked open, at which point a lion and a dragon burst forth from it before flying back inside the egg as it resealed itself.

He gaped at Hermione. “But… won’t this disappear as soon as we leave the Room of Requirement?”

“I don’t think so,” Hermione shook her head, “It doesn’t look like something the room conjured. It looks more like… a treasure! From its mysterious vaults,” she intoned teasingly, a knowing smile on her face.

Fred clasped it tightly and looked at Hermione gratefully for a second before suddenly wrapping her in a tight hug, lifting her from the ground and whirling her around, whooping and shouting excitedly. Hermione laughed and exclaimed, “Alright! It’s not like I got you the watch!” she laughed. He stopped and put her down, raising an eyebrow at her. “It was the room,” she said slowly, meeting his eyes. Their faces were only inches apart.

Fred exhaled a laugh and gave her a disarming smile. “Right, well… thanks anyway,” he said, suddenly feeling they weren’t close enough. He brought his lips toward hers and captured them in a gentle kiss. After a few seconds, Fred pulled away, looking at Hermione inquisitively. She gave him a surprised look, then smiled softly and kissed him again, this time with more intensity. Fred brought his hands to her hair and ran his fingers through it as she parted his lips with her tongue, her arms wrapped around him.

When they finally broke apart, Hermione looked up at him, still a bit in shock. “Well that was quite a thank you!” She laughed and shook her head, “I don’t know what to say.”

Fred beamed smugly as he pulled back, examined his new pocket watch one more time, then thrust it in the pocket of his robes as he backed away. “You’re welcome,” he said as he turned around, hearing Hermione huff exasperatedly as he opened the door and left the Room of Requirement.

~*oOo*~

Hermione stepped out of the floo in Grimmauld Place, exhausted from her day of potion making and revelations of Weasley twin secrets. She hadn’t told George that she was the one who’d given Fred the watch; he didn’t seem to know, and if Fred didn’t tell him for some reason, she wasn’t about to go against his wishes.

Ron was seated on the couch with a butterbeer and a piece of Mrs. Weasley’s chocolate cake. He looked up as Hermione entered the sitting room. “How’s your day been?” he asked, patting the couch cushion beside him. “Cake?”

“No thanks,” Hermione replied, plopping down next to him.

“Where were you all day?” Ron inquired between bites. “Seems ages since I’ve seen you.”

Hermione looked at him; she couldn’t tell him the truth, not yet. What if it didn’t work? She wasn’t so sure it would, she thought bitterly. Who knew whether this book was legitimate— _it bears further research,_ she thought decidedly. “I was helping George with his experiments for Wizard Wheezes,” she said, deciding a half-truth was best. “It can’t be easy for him, going from having a partner to—well, I just thought perhaps I could help,” she finished with a sigh. “Besides, I’m quite handy with charms and transfiguration. And herbology. And potions, for that matter.”

Ron smiled at her. “So I’ve heard. Well that’s great you’re helping him, Hermione. I’m sure he appreciates it.” He frowned. “Do you think—tomorrow’s Sunday, and we’ve got dinner at the Burrow, but maybe we could spend some time just the two of us? Have lunch, or something?” he asked, seeming unsure of how to actually date his old-friend-turned-very-new-girlfriend.

It was oddly endearing, really, Hermione thought, laughing as she said, “Of course! I just have one errand to run in the morning and then I’m free,” she said, taking his hand and lacing her fingers between his.

Ron smiled as he leaned forward and kissed her, a sweet, simple kiss, before returning to his chocolate cake. “Sure you don’t want some?” he asked. Hermione shook her head, partly to refuse the cake and partly to shake the lingering memory of Fred’s kiss from her thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more juicy backstory for ya :) comment if you'd like!


	4. A Malfoy Encounter

Hermione entered Slug and Jiggers Apothecary with a dual mission: purchase a unicorn hair for the Spiritus Ortum she and George were making, and then conceal the true purpose of said unicorn hair on her lunch date with Ron at the Leaky Cauldron immediately following her apothecary trip. Perhaps she could tell him they were devising some sort of healing potion? She sighed as she perused the shelves, glancing at the newt eyes, fairy wings, and various other ingredients before spying the unicorn hairs right next to the crocodile hearts. Hermione was surprised to see the sleek blond hair of Draco Malfoy as he plucked a crocodile heart from the shelf before he turned and saw her, eyes narrowing. “Granger,” he drawled tonelessly, “what a pleasant surprise. Out shopping for the Weasel of your heart?”

Hermione ignored that remark. “It’s certainly a surprise to see you here. Shouldn’t you be in a holding cell in Azkaban awaiting your trial? You know, for being a Death Eater and murdering innocent people?”

Draco immediately bristled. “I never—not that you would know, Granger, but not all Death Eaters are murderers. The world isn’t so black and white as that,” he lectured mockingly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re roaming about Diagon Alley without a care—”

“Malfoy!” A large, broad wizard with copious scars on his face and arms tapped his watch. “You’ve got five more minutes, then it’s back to the Manor with you.”

Draco looked at Hermione; did she detect embarrassment on his face? “There you have it,” he sneered, “my own personal Auror watchdog, escorting me back to my house arrest as soon as I’m done here. They only let me out to buy potion ingredients for my mother.”

Hermione looked at the ingredients he was carrying. “A calming draught?”

He nodded curtly. “She’s not well.”

Hermione decided to ask him a question which had been gnawing at her. “Well, it seems your house arrest is loosely enforced, as I’ve seen you out in public twice now. Once here, and once at Fred’s funeral.” She looked at him probingly. He merely blinked at her, and she pressed, “Why were you there? You were never a great fan of Fred, or any of the Weasleys for that matter.”

Draco scoffed. “Quite right.”

Hermione was infuriated—Draco was being especially terse, which made her think he was up to something. “And of course, the circumstances surrounding his death—being killed in an explosion caused by a Death Eater during the Battle of Hogwarts, I mean. How could you show your face?” she interrogated him menacingly.

Draco merely cocked an eyebrow at her. “Have you spoken to McGonagall yet?”

Hermione blinked at this non sequitur. “No; but as it happens, I am meeting with her tomorrow,” she said, shocked that Draco could intuit such a thing. “I assume she wants to speak with me about returning to Hogwarts for my seventh year.”

Draco smirked. “A scintillating prospect, I’m sure.” He walked to the counter and slammed down the money for his items, startling the clerk. “Keep me posted, I’ll be on the edge of my seat,” he called over his shoulder as he left with the sour, scarred auror. Hermione shook her head as he left, bewildered and annoyed. What was he hiding? And what the hell did he care about her meeting with McGonagall? 

~*oOo*~

“Well, boy?” Draco heard Fenrir Greyback snarl as he stared into the swollen, puffy pink face of his longtime enemy, Harry Potter. The boy was fighting not to make eye contact with Draco, probably for fear of being recognized—but there was no question in Draco’s mind that this was perfect Potter in all his self-righteous glory. The question now was: what should he do about it?

“Well, Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?” Draco’s father breathed over his shoulder.

Draco screwed up his face, pretending to examine Potter’s distorted features as he cleared his mind. He’d become a dab hand at Occlumency—it seemed he used it almost all the time now. “I can’t—I can’t be sure,” Draco said carefully, almost fearful sounding. He was becoming a decent actor too, he congratulated himself. But he wondered—what exactly was he playing at? Why would he save Potter, of all people, when turning him in could put the Malfoys in Voldemort’s good graces again? _You know it wouldn’t really, though,_ a small voice in his head said. _He never forgives._

Lucius prodded Draco further, insisting almost frantically that he could see a scar, Draco should look again, could he be sure?! The desperation in his father’s voice made Draco sick, and he looked with pity at the man he’d once admired. He continued to feign uncertainty, staring directly into Harry’s eyes as he equivocated, “I don’t know.” A strange expression crossed Potter’s inflamed face—was it gratitude? Draco felt his chest tighten and he cleared his mind once again. As his parents argued with the snatchers, Draco continued to stare at Potter and his sidekicks with a practiced look of derision on his face until his aunt Bella arrived. _Not good,_ Draco thought, eyeing the witch warily. _Things are tense enough without my mad homicidal aunt here to torture anyone who disagrees with her._

Bellatrix gestured to the snatchers she’d just Stunned, demanding, “Draco, move this scum outside. If you haven’t got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me.” Draco curled his lip as he levitated the snatchers.

Narcissa interjected, “Don’t you dare speak to Draco like that!” Draco nearly rolled his eyes on his way out the door as the women sparred with each other. Like he needed his mother’s protection. Nothing his family said or did was any good anymore—what did it matter?

He dumped the snatchers in the corner of the manor’s stately courtyard, then raised his wand at them. Why hadn’t he exposed Potter and turned him in? Perhaps he couldn’t do anything right. What was wrong with him? He shook his head and snarled, “ _Avada Kedavra!”_ A bolt of green light shot toward the snatchers. _I had to,_ he thought, breathing heavily and staring at their lifeless bodies. _I can do it if I have to._ He’d never been able to with the muggles the Dark Lord sometimes brought them—and not with Dumbledore, he remembered bitterly—but when he had to, he could.

Emboldened, Draco strolled back inside the manor, stopping outside the hall where his parents and Bellatrix were before he entered. He could hear high-pitched screams— _Granger,_ he thought bitterly as he listened to his aunt’s interrogation. Something about the sword of Gryffindor—who cared about some old goblin-made hunk of metal? Draco entered just as Bellatrix hit Granger with a shouted _“CRUCIO!”_ He found it difficult to keep his expression neutral and his mind blank, like he ought to. Immediately his thoughts whirred to the others, who he knew must be in the cellar—he thought he could even hear the Weasel shouting Granger’s name. _Harry would be lost without the girl_ , he thought suddenly. _He needs her to survive this._

“Draco!” Lucius’ sharp shout pulled the blond boy from his thoughts, and he looked stiffly at his father. “Fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not.”

Draco nodded and headed to the cellar. He paused before he entered to clear his mind and school his features into blankness, _not that he’d have much trouble hiding his thoughts from this lot,_ he mused with a snort. He called out menacingly, “Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill you!” He waited a moment for the prisoners to obey his command, them muttered “ _Lumos,”_ as he unlocked and threw open the cellar door.

Potter, the Weasel, Loony, Dean Thomas, Ollivander, and the goblin all stood in a line along the back wall. Draco looked down his nose at their sorry state, dirty and bedraggled. None of them looked scared though—that foolhardy Gryffindor bravery, he supposed. He kept his eyes on Potter’s face, whose features were rapidly returning to the familiar visage of his nemesis. Draco stared into Potter’s eyes as he marched toward the back wall before turning and grabbing the goblin roughly by the arm. Draco backed out, his eyes still on Potter’s as he warily retreated and slammed the door shut. Potter’s defiant emerald eyes had burned holes in his. _I can’t turn him in,_ he thought desperately—and though the thought surprised him, he immediately knew it was the truth. _There must be another way._

Draco dragged the goblin upstairs to be interrogated. As his mad aunt probed the goblin for information, Draco looked across the room at Granger, who was lying on the floor in a heap, moaning slightly and nearly unconscious. _She’ll live, I think._ He watched at the Muggle-born witch with a look of near pity, then saw his father eyeing him closely out of the corner of his eye. _Clear your mind,_ Draco thought quickly. _Block the thoughts. Blank expression._ He was quick; he’d had plenty of practice. Still, perhaps his father had seen…

“Draco!” Lucius said sharply, and Draco nearly jumped, but stopped himself and looked at his father questioningly. “Call Wormtail! Make him go and check the cellar!”

Draco nodded again, heading to the grand staircase to call Wormtail and deliver the message. _Obsequious rodent,_ he sneered as Wormtail scuttled off to the cellar. _He’d lick Voldemort’s boots if the old snake asked him._ He suddenly wondered if his father would do the same, then shuddered and cleared his mind of the thought. When Draco returned, Bellatrix seemed satisfied with her questioning of the goblin. She pressed her wand to her Dark Mark, which shimmered and went black. Draco breathed in sharply. _He’s coming._

Bellatrix looked disgustedly at Hermione. “And I think we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her.” The beast snarled hungrily, and Draco subtly brought his hand to his wand in his pocket, unsure what he’d do if the monster attacked Granger. He heard a passionate “NO!” coming from behind them and whipped around— _of course,_ he thought with equal parts bitterness and relief. _Potter and pals to the rescue._

The skirmish that ensued was chaotic—Draco did his best to protect his family from harm while avoiding unnecessarily attacking the Golden Trio. Potter actually had the gall to stun Lucius, and Draco leapt to his defense, shooting a stunning spell at the Chosen One which missed its target. He knew his heart wasn’t in it—as much as he hated precious Potter, he had come to hate Voldemort, the man who had reduced his family and his father to sniveling, sycophantic lackies, far more. _Perhaps Potter really can kill the bastard once and for all,_ he thought, a strange, faint hope rising in his chest as he watched Potter and his friends face off with the deranged Bellatrix, who was holding Granger threateningly, a knife to her throat.

Suddenly, the large chandelier fell with a crack on Granger and the goblin. Draco covered his face, bloody from the shards. He blinked his eyes open and saw Potter charging towards him. The boy snatched the three wands Draco was holding from him, including his own beloved hawthorn wand. _Just take it,_ he thought desperately as his mother pulled him back protectively. _If it helps you kill him, take it._ He watched as the prisoners all disapparated with, incredibly, his family’s old house elf. He smirked—what were the odds?

He only had a moment to revel in the prisoners’ escape before the familiar whoosh sound, and Voldemort descended on the scene, his snake-like eyes cold with fury, darting around the room in search of Potter. Draco looked at his mother and saw the unchecked fear in her eyes as she looked back at him. _Right,_ he thought fervently. _Enough is enough._

~*oOo*~

“Let me be sure I understand you, Severus,” McGonagall said carefully, eyeing the greasy man standing beside Draco in the headmaster’s office. “Mr. Malfoy has approached you with a desire to join the Order? At great personal risk and against his family’s wishes? And despite his indoctrination as a Death Eater and follower of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“Quite right,” Snape drawled impatiently, putting a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “The boy has shown great bravery in coming to me, Minerva. He can be of use to the cause.”

McGonagall exploded, “This boy tried to kill one of the greatest wizards who has ever lived for the better part of last year—how can we trust him, Severus? Frankly, I’m not sure I can trust y—”

“Minerva,” a deep, gentle voice interrupted. McGonagall, Snape, and Draco all turned their heads to look at Dumbledore’s portrait. “I’ve told you Severus acted according to my wishes last year,” he reminded her, “and it is my belief that the young Mr. Malfoy can be saved.”

Draco bristled at the implication that he was some sort of helpless damsel in distress. “I don’t need to be saved—I need protection. For me and my mother,” he demanded of McGonagall, who pursed her lips at him.

“We will need information from you,” she said finally. “Anything you hear that the Order should know, you must bring to Headmaster Snape or myself. And you will keep your fellow students from harming others, particularly the Slytherins,” she added sternly, “no matter what your Death Eater professors may force them to do.” Draco nodded tentatively, not sure how he’d accomplish that task.

“Also,” intoned Snape as Draco turned towards him, “your particular assignment while you are at Hogwarts will be to guard the Room of Requirement from any Death Eaters who may try to enter. We believe Voldemort may have hidden an object of great importance there, and we believe it would be wise to keep him from using it,” he finished slowly, looking Draco right in the eyes.

Draco nodded as he heard Dumbledore’s portrait add meaningfully, “Yes, there are many mysterious items in the Room of Requirement in which Voldemort, and indeed others still, may be especially interested.” McGonagall, Snape, and Draco all looked at each other, each of them a bit annoyed by this cryptic intrusion from the former headmaster.

Draco nodded curtly to his professors. “I agree to these tasks.” _To save the Malfoy name,_ he thought fiercely, _To save my family, I’ll do what I have to do._

~*oOo*~

“He was just acting so strangely today at the apothecary,” Hermione remarked, adding a second helping of mashed potatoes onto her plate, “I can’t help but think Draco is up to something. What do you think, Harry?”

Harry had just taken a bite of Mrs. Weasley’s meatloaf, and took a few seconds to chew and swallow before he answered, with the entire Weasley clan (plus Hermione) staring at him. “I dunno,” he said finally, “I reckon he’s always been a bit shifty. But then, he was usually up to something,” he added thoughtfully. “Like in sixth year, when none of you believed me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes—clearly Harry still wasn’t over that. Ron exclaimed in an exasperated tone, “Yeah we GET IT, Harry, you were right to be obsessed with Draco. Enough already!”

“Ron!” Molly scolded as Ginny and George laughed, George absentmindedly flipping Fred’s watch open and closed as he did.

“He really was obsessed, Mum,” Ginny informed her, shooting Harry a teasing look. “I was a bit jealous, actually.”

Harry grinned widely, “Really? I’ll keep that in mind, might be useful in the future.” He winked at his girlfriend, and she playfully smacked him in the chest, incurring more laughter from all the Weasleys and Hermione.

Only Molly remained unamused as she was cutting the cake, “Really, all of you leave Harry alone, he’s been through enough recently—he died, you know!” she bellowed, then yelped in pain as the knife she’d bewitched to cut the cake nicked her hand. “Oh, how clumsy! That never happens,” she winced, holding her injured hand.

George hopped up immediately. “Merlin, Mum, that looks bad. Let me help you,” he offered, conjuring a bandage and wrapping her hand. But before he did so, Hermione saw him pocket a small vial of red liquid and narrowed her eyes. It seemed Draco wasn’t the only one acting shifty today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don't mind a little side trip into Draco's perspective--I promise we'll get more Fred and Hermione next week :) loving your comments so far, thanks for reading everyone!


	5. Ghosts of Christmas Past

The next morning, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were in McGonagall’s office at Hogwarts, which was miraculously unscathed from the battle that had taken place there roughly two weeks earlier. Hermione had assumed they were there to discuss the trio’s return to Hogwarts for their seventh year (“Despite your heroic actions, there is still the truancy issue,” McGonagall had chastised), but that wasn’t the actual purpose of their visit. McGonagall had sat them down and explained to them the true nature of Draco’s allegiance during the last few months of Voldemort’s return to power.

Hermione was perplexed. “So… he was a double agent, just like Snape?”

“Initially, no,” admitted the headmistress. “At first, he was merely a boy taught to hate, caught up in his father’s prejudices and hoping to make him proud. When he found he couldn’t stomach the work of a Death Eater, he came to Snape and asked to become a spy for the Order, in exchange for our protection for himself and his mother. Obviously this was top secret information—no one else in the Order knew besides myself and Professor Snape.”

“Why Snape?” Ron puzzled. “How did he know he could trust him?”

“Professor Snape was Draco’s godfather; he’d known Draco since he was born. It seems that when one father figure fell from his pedestal, Draco turned to another,” McGonagall postulated.

Hermione still wanted answers. “What about what happened in the Room of Requirement?” she demanded. “He, Crabbe, and Goyle were there to kill us and bring Harry to Voldemort; Crabbe nearly succeeded when he burnt the whole place down!”

McGonagall frowned, “I’m not sure; I imagine he felt he could not reveal himself because Crabbe and Goyle were there, but did everything he could to spare your lives. However, I did not bring you here to parse Draco Malfoy’s every move last year,” she pursed her lips. “I offered Draco protection in exchange for his services for the Order. He performed his duties, and I must ask for your help in performing ours.”

“Our help?” asked Harry.

“Indeed,” replied McGonagall. “The Malfoy family’s Wizengamot hearings are all scheduled for Wednesday, two days from now. I must ask you to testify on behalf of Draco and his mother, Mrs. Malfoy. All you need say is what you know—that Draco risked his life to help the Order, and that his mother was not a Death Eater and was in the very difficult position of following her husband’s crusade or risking his wrath,” she advised the trio. “Any other information you know that would attest to their character—their _good_ character, Mr. Weasley,” she added as Ron audibly scoffed, “would be most helpful.”

“He saved us at Malfoy Manor,” Harry said quietly. “He could have identified me right away, I know he could. And Narcissa saved me in the Forbidden Forest. I owe this to them,” he said, looking at the other two. Hermione nodded, still a bit skeptical, and Ron looked as though he might be physically ill at the thought of helping Malfoy.

“I trust you will make the right choice,” said McGonagall, looking at the three of them. “You always have—even when that choice was against the rules,” she sternly looked down at them. “That is all for today.”

Harry and Ron could tell when they’d been invited to leave and headed to the floo in McGonagall’s office—they were on their way to the Ministry to meet with Kingsley Shacklebolt about training to become aurors. Kingsley had offered all three of them a place in the program, but Hermione had no interest in becoming an auror.

Hermione lingered for a moment in McGonagall’s office. “Prof—Headmistress?” she said. “I’ve been thinking about coming back to Hogwarts for my seventh year as we discussed, but I’m still not sure it’s the right decision.”

McGonagall looked up at her from her desk. “Miss Gra—Hermione, you are at a crossroads. I am sure there will be many exceptional options available to you for your next year. The burden will be on you to choose the best use of your time. I trust you will not waste it,” she said, giving Hermione a meaningful look before turning back to the many stacks of parchment on her desk. After a moment, she looked up over her spectacles, seeming to disapprove of Hermione still standing there. “You may go, Miss Granger.”

~*oOo*~

Hermione stepped out of the floo into Fred and George’s flat. She was meeting George to work on the potion; now that it had simmered for two days, it was time to add the unicorn hair she’d bought. She called for George, but when no answer came, she figured he was still downstairs in the shop. She was a bit early, after all. Hermione took advantage of her time and explored the twins’ flat a little. She’d never been there before, but she’d imagined a barely inhabitable bachelor pad with socks strewn about and mysterious odors pervading the air. In fact, it was rather clean, if not exactly tidy. Every surface was strewn with charmed knick-knacks and strange magical gadgets that the twins had collected (or possibly invented) over the years.

Hermione ventured into the hallway and pushed open a door, finding herself in a bedroom with posters hung on the wall of the Irish Quidditch team. She found herself wondering if this was Fred or George’s room; either felt invasive, she decided, but she was too curious not to continue. She discovered a small silver medallion of a magpie hung around the bedpost— _this must be the piece of George’s soul he gave to Fred_ , she thought! She hovered her hand over it, and it hummed with the same benign energy as Fred’s pocket watch. She turned around, looking for more clues— _or perhaps just a piece of Fred that could be hers_ , she suddenly thought. On his desk she saw a brown bowler hat; she picked it up, put it on and looked in the mirror, then laughed when she realized her head was missing. “A Headless Hat, of course!” she exclaimed, taking it off and examining it. “So clever—one of the first times I realized how clever they truly are.” _Were,_ she thought briefly, before shaking her head and continuing her search.

Hanging off the corner of the mirror, she spied a clump of mistletoe that she suspected, were she standing under it with another person, would burst into song. She smiled, her eyes misting as she remembered a Christmas a couple of years ago.

~*oOo*~

“Hermione?”

Hermione, seated on the couch in the study at Grimmauld Place, looked up from her book. “Fred?” she said, surprised. “What are you doing up? It’s past 2am.”

“I could ask you the same,” he pointed out, striding over to her and sitting down beside her and opening a bag of crisps. “I fancied a midnight snack. You?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Hermione admitted, “so I came down here to read. Some really interesting books down here.” Fred nodded, seeming quite disinterested in the interesting books, and popped a crisp in his mouth. Hermione thought for a moment, then said, “I’m so glad your father’s going to be ok, Fred.” Fred looked at her, his usually mischievous brown eyes filled with gratitude, and Hermione suddenly noticed how close her hand was to his on the couch.

Fred’s eyes began to twinkle and he said, “Yeah, good thing Harry believes his mad dreams, or who knows what would have happened. I often dream I’m chasing Umbridge down the halls on my broomstick, pelting her with bludgers—but that one never comes true,” he lamented. Hermione laughed, and Fred looked at her in awe. “You have the most amazing laugh,” he blurted out, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was quite close to her now, she noticed.

Hermione could feel her face flushing, so she looked down at her book and quickly changed the subject. “So have you and George come up with any new products for the Christmas season? Exploding turkey? Indestructible wrapping paper?” she teased.

Fred looked at her, shocked she was inquiring about his and George’s fledgling business, which he knew she found dubious at best. “Just you wait, I’ll show you what we’ve got—you’ll love it!” He raced up to his room as Hermione chuckled and turned back to her book.

When Fred returned, he held both his arms behind his back, _clearly hiding something alarming,_ Hermione thought. He brought them in front of him to reveal a brown bowler hat, then held up a finger as if to say _but wait! there’s more!_ and placed the hat on his head. Nothing happened. Fred held his arms out wide. “Ta-da! What do you think, pretty neat, eh?”

Hermione wrinkled her nose in confusion. “What’s it supposed to do, exactly?”

Fred took it off his head and examined it. “Ah damn, thought I’d fixed it,” he said bashfully. “Well, it’s supposed to be an invisibility charm localized to just the wearer’s head, so when you put it on, you appear headless.”

Hermione giggled. “That’s brilliant!”

Fred grunted. “Well, it’ll be great once we figure it out. Right now, it either turns your whole body invisible or it’s just a faintly silly hat,” he groused. He brightened as he stuffed a hand into his pocket, tossing the hat aside. “But wait, I’ve got one more,” he grinned, grabbing her hand and pulling her to stand in front of him. Hermione’s heart leapt at this spontaneous contact, though she tried to keep herself together.

Fred seemed not to notice as he was too preoccupied with the object he’d pulled from his pocket, which he now held aloft above their heads. Hermione looked up—it was mistletoe, and as soon as Fred had held it above them, it had begun to sing a Christmas carol in a thin, wobbly voice.

Hermione looked at Fred’s wicked grin, laughing, “Very Christmassy! How does it work?”

“Much like regular mistletoe actually, but with a twist,” Fred said, as Hermione noticed she was close enough to count the freckles on his nose. “When two people are standing under it, it sings carols until they kiss,” he said, inching his face even closer to Hermione’s.

She could feel her heart racing; _play it cool, Hermione,_ she thought as the mistletoe warbled on. She rolled her chocolate brown eyes and smirked. “Well, I suppose if we have to…” she intoned, meeting Fred’s eyes.

He grinned, brought his hand to her chin, and pulled her mouth to his just as the mistletoe had finished singing, “Glad tidings to elves and goblins and men, to centaurs a merry Christmas and a happy New Y—!” The moment their lips touched, the singing stopped. Fred let the mistletoe drop to the ground as he brought his hand to Hermione’s soft curls, twirling his fingers in them. Their lips parted and their tongues caressed each other as they deepened the kiss. Hermione brought her hands to Fred’s hair and pulled herself towards him, pressing her body against his. She heard him draw a sharp breath as she did so, and he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up in his effort to bring their bodies as close together as possible.

Fred nibbled Hermione’s lip as he pulled away slightly, setting her down and cocking his head at her, grinning. “Merry Christmas, love,” he said as he gave her one last soft kiss and held up the mistletoe. “I think I’ll hold onto this.” He winked at her before sauntering out of the room. Hermione touched her lips in disbelief—she’d kissed Fred Weasley _again!_ She’d thought she liked Ron—what was she thinking?

~*oOo*~

Hermione shook off the pleasant memory and headed downstairs to the twins’ workroom to meet George. He stood at the cauldron as she entered. “’Bout time you got here!” he chuckled. “Find anything interesting upstairs?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows at her.

“I wasn’t—that’s ridiculous, I would never intrude on your privacy!” she spluttered. “The meeting simply ran long with McGonagall. Sorry I’m a bit late,” she huffed. “Let’s get to it. I’ve got the unicorn hair; now what?”

George and Hermione added the hair to the potion along with three drops of thestral blood. They now had to stir the potion 7 times counter-clockwise, followed by one clockwise stir, repeatedly for twenty minutes. George stirred while Hermione perused the _Arcanum Gemini Magicae,_ trying to absorb all the knowledge she could about the potion and the spell Fred and George had performed. But she found she was distracted by her earlier thoughts. She sighed and looked at George, who was diligently stirring and counting. “George?” she asked carefully. “What—er, how much did you know about Fred and me?”

George looked up at her, still counting in his head. “Everything, of course,” he replied with a smug grin. “No secrets between me and Fred—soulmates, and all.”

“Right,” Hermione said thoughtfully, looking back down at the _Arcanum._ A thought suddenly occurred to her. “Do you know where he got the watch?” she asked. “The book says that the items used in the _Geminae Vivit_ should be of some significance to the owner. Was it meaningful to him?”

George seemed perturbed by the question, but continued stirring. “He said he found it one day in the Room of Requirement and just fancied it, that’s all,” he said curtly. “Can you take over stirring for a bit? My arm’s getting tired.”

“Of course,” replied Hermione, jumping up to take his place, a small, secretive smile on her face. Apparently Fred didn’t tell his soulmate _everything._

~*oOo*~

**he shook his head. he’d been here before. river of blue fire. river of black water. purple shadows that move on their own. eerie gold glow and a kindly voice. “I know I can help, if I can just think…” his voice was his own, but strange, as if he were hearing it through a wall, muffled. like through extendable ears. he nearly grinned at the memory but shook his head again. all his memories are happy-sad. the gold glow reached out and he almost felt it warm his chest. “You cannot help yet. I believe you will soon. For now, allow me,” it said as it brought a vial of black liquid from behind its back and tipped it into the shadow’s mouth. the shadow shivered as it gulped down the liquid, which seemed to run right through its transparent body ( _can we drink?_ he thought. _yes, it seems, but also no_ ). the revived shadow raised its head at the gold figure and murmured, “Thanks. I just couldn’t help it…thought it might be warm…” its words drifted off as it too drifted off, away from the blue fire river. he gaped at it as it glided away. “Was that a ghost?” he wondered aloud. the gold glow smiled. “You ask me that every time, dear Fred. No, and before you ask, you are not a ghost either. Ghosts are dead beings who exist among the living, and that is not you—not yet.” **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're liking this Fred and Hermione backstory! Leave a comment if you'd like, I'm loving them all!


	6. A Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh I've been waiting for this one, and I bet you have too--enjoy!

Hermione stirred the potion for the remainder of the twenty minutes, at which point she and George consulted the _Arcanum_ for the instructions for the last part of the potion. They were so close, but they had clearly reached the difficult bit, Hermione thought. She read aloud from the _Arcanum, “‘Add these most sacred ingredients last: soul of the lost one, cleaved purposefully; blood of the mother, stolen secretly; body of the lover, offered as a gift.’_ Sounds like that creepy potion Voldemort made in the graveyard,” she said reluctantly. “Are we sure this potion will bring him back… intact? As he was? After he was resurrected, Voldemort was never the man he was before he died, you know,” she cautioned, remembering the hideous face of the man Harry had destroyed only two weeks ago.

“I’ve told you, Hermione—it’s not like a horcrux, or dark magic, or anything like that,” George responded impatiently as he examined the book, “it’s much older than any of that. So we’ve got his soul obviously,” he held up the pocket watch.

Hermione eyed him carefully. “And I suspect you have your mother’s blood; am I right?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

George grinned sheepishly and held up the vial he had taken at Sunday dinner. “I only bewitched the knife to nick her finger a very little bit—she’s just fine, Hermione!”

Hermione tutted and shook her head at him, then looked back at the book. “So that leaves the ‘body of the lover,’ whatever that means. I think it’s rather sexist that the deceased’s lover must give up her body so the dead man can reclaim his,” she pointed out matter-of-factly.

George ignored this diversion and looked at her. “Who would his lover be, Hermione?” he asked pointedly.

Hermione’s mouth fell open. “You didn’t really need my help with this potion,” she stated, not accusingly but more like a sudden realization. “You think I’m the lover!” She blushed a deep crimson as she spluttered and protested. “Well… it was only a few kisses here and there… hardly a… lover’s a bit rich… what about Angelina?” she demanded. “Didn’t they date for a while in your sixth year?”

George shook his head. “He’d kill me if he knew I told you this, but as he’s currently dead—I know you’re the lover, Hermione, because I know how he felt about you,” he finished softly. “However,” he continued more jovially, “I don’t fancy chopping you into bits and throwing you in the potion, so I’m hoping this ‘body of the lover’ talk is more metaphorical than literal. Any ideas?”

Hermione’s mouth opened and closed like a fish at the admission of Fred’s feelings. “I… well…” she suddenly developed an academic interest in discovering the meaning of the potion’s instructions. “I know it’s not the Voldemort spell, but it does sound similar to Wormtail cutting off his hand in the graveyard—perhaps it would only need to be a part of my body? Hopefully one that isn’t as crucial as a hand,” she added, wringing her hands as she thought. She continued reading the _Arcanum: “Be ye warned that the spell alone will not seal the lost soul’s return. While the bond remains unsealed, the soul will be forever between the realm of the living and the land beyond the veil,”_ it cautioned.

As Hermione was puzzling this, George looked at her thoughtfully. “Did you and my brother ever have sex?” he asked abruptly.

Hermione looked up, shocked. “What? No, of course not, whatever gave you that—it was a few kisses here and there, how many times!” she shouted.

A small lopsided smile grew on George’s face. “Sorry,” he said, bemused, “just thought, of all the ways a lover might give their body ‘as a gift,’ that definitely seems the nicest…”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m certain that’s not it,” she said, examining the maroon cover of the book. A thought suddenly occurred to her. “We believe this book to be from the middle ages, correct?” George nodded. “Well,” said Hermione, struggling to distill her racing thoughts, “body part worship was actually quite common in that time. Clerics would keep parts of important figures’ bodies or possessions, like Circe’s bones, Merlin’s beard hairs, or Morgana’s tattered garments, in sacred reliquaries for worship and magical use. Furthermore,” she continued breathlessly, “locks of hair were common gifts among lovers in the 18th and 19th centuries, amongst wizards and muggles alike!” She looked at George excitedly. “A piece of oneself, given to a lover.”

~*oOo*~

Hermione lingered in the Room of Requirement following Harry’s Patronus lesson under the pretense of needing to organize the defensive artifact shelves. Really, she was hoping Fred would linger along with her, though she scolded herself for focusing on such a trivial matter. They’d kissed exactly twice in the past few months, and these were clearly fleeting encounters to him, she told herself harshly. Not to mention she had more important matters to worry about—Umbridge’s reign of terror and the plight of the house elves should always be foremost in her thoughts, she admonished herself. Still, she guiltily cast a furtive glance towards Fred as the rest of the DA milled about after the lesson.

To her mingled delight and disappointment, Fred did linger after the rest of the DA had left the Room of Requirement, telling George not to wait up. George had knowingly grinned at Hermione before exiting (a fact that incensed her to no end), and Fred strode towards her, standing a bit too close as he polished a Foe Glass on the shelf with his sleeve. “Need some help, love?” he asked in a low voice.

Hermione turned to him. “You can’t always charm your way out of trouble, Fred,” she warned him playfully. He simply grinned, as though he clearly disagreed. Hermione drew a deep breath and continued, “What are you and George planning? I know you’re gearing up to something big,” she said in an accusatory tone. “What are you up to?”

Fred chuckled and drew nearer to her, curling a tendril of her voluminous hair around his finger. “You know everything, don’t you?” he asked, cocking his head to one side. “It’s not dangerous—don’t you worry your pretty little head—” he raised his other hand to her hair, gesturing towards it, “or your bloody big hair about it, alright?” He continued to twirl her hair around his finger as he smiled reassuringly at her.

Hermione faltered for a moment, but maintained her line of questioning. “Are you leaving?” she asked in a small voice.

Fred’s eyes flashed with tenderness and sympathy for a moment before regaining their jovial gleam. “Maybe. But hey, it’s not like we’re setting off to Romania to wrangle dragons with Charlie. We’ll still be close by,” he reassured her, raising his hand to her chin.

Hermione gritted her teeth, determined not to be charmed by the easy laughter in his brown eyes. “It’s not a joke, Fred! What about your education? Surely that’s most important.”

Fred chuckled lightly. “You would say that, wouldn’t you? I’d say George and I have learned all that Hogwarts has to teach us at this point,” he countered thoughtfully. “But if the Brightest Witch of her Age has any further lessons she wishes to impart, I’m all ears,” he grinned wickedly, wiggling his ears at her.

Hermione’s bushy hair seemed to grow bigger as she snarled, “Oh, I could teach you a lesson alright.” She gripped her wand, pondering exactly what lesson she should teach this cocky troublemaker as he smirked at her. She growled as she impulsively pulled him towards her and kissed him determinedly. He uttered a small “hmph!” of surprise before succumbing to the passionate kiss, tangling his fingers further into her hair. Hermione allowed herself a few moments of not thinking, losing herself in Fred’s kiss, his touch, the smell of his skin—juniper soap, fresh parchment, and a faint whisper of gunpowder, she noticed, gripping his body closer to hers as she deepened their kiss.

When she finally pulled away with a triumphant look on her face, Fred stared at her in awe. “Professor, that was a revelation,” he said quietly, leaning towards her, “but I’m still fuzzy on the finer points, perhaps you can explain…”

But as he leaned towards her, Hermione kept her lips teasingly just out of his reach. “You have so much more to learn, Fred Weasley,” she murmured, then stepped back slightly and said, “ _Immobulus_!”

Fred froze immediately, a faint expression of admiration in his wide brown eyes. Hermione, pleased with herself for having pranked the prankster, turned to run, but found she was caught—and realized that when she had frozen Fred, he still had his fingers tangled in her hair, where they remained. She sighed exasperatedly, then cut off the tangled locks with a cutting charm to enable her escape. She shouted “ _Finite_!” just as she closed the door, exiting the Room of Requirement. Fred laughed as he unfroze, a besotted look in his eyes as he examined the lock of Hermione’s wild coffee-colored curls still tangled in his fingers.

~*oOo*~

George and Hermione stood on either end of the cauldron, which they’d placed in the center of a circle of crushed marigold petals. They each added an ingredient to the cauldron—George added the vial of his mother’s blood, and Hermione added a lock of her own hair—as they chanted: “ _Iam amissa recuperatur. Spiritus ortum, mittendum fratrem tuum_.” George laid Fred’s pocket watch on the ground between them and poured the potion over it; it sizzled as it absorbed into the ensouled object. “ _Spiritus ortum, spiritus ortum, spiritus ortum_ ,” they chanted as they stared at the watch, hearts beating in their chests. Suddenly an unearthly wail sounded, and George and Hermione stopped chanting, looking at each other with wide eyes. The watch began to emit a blinding silver glow, and the room began to spin incredibly fast—Hermione covered her eyes to keep from being sick. As the glow died down, she opened her eyes, gazing towards the spot in the center of the circle where they had laid the pocket watch. She heard George breathe in sharply. There in the center of the crushed marigold petals, covered in bruises and clutching the pocket watch, sat someone who looked remarkably like Fred, gasping for breath and blinking his ice-blue eyes.


	7. Returning

_The cage is really a bit excessive,_ Draco thought as he sat before the Wizengamot, about to be tried for his crimes as a Death Eater. _I’m not an animal—it’s undignified, is what it is._ He took in his surroundings—the courtroom was arranged like an amphitheater in the round with Draco seated in his large cage at its lowest point. Directly in front of him in the highest row sat Kingsley Shacklebolt, the newly appointed Minister for Magic, surrounded on either side by the members of the Wizengamot. Draco recognized the sickly pink robes and simpering smile of Dolores Umbridge seated in a lower row to his right. He glanced over his shoulder at the viewing gallery and saw several of his former Hogwarts classmates, including the golden trio, Longbottom, the Weasley girl and one of the Weasley twins. _Must be George, of course—the one who survived,_ he thought grimly. He spied his mother in the gallery too, maintaining a stoic look barely masking her fraught emotional state. At least she’d been cleared of her charges before having to watch Draco’s trial.

Shacklebolt cleared his throat and Draco whirled back around. “Mr. Draco Malfoy, you have been charged with acts of violence against muggles, torture, terrorism, and harboring the dark wizard He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in your home. All of these crimes are associated with your time as part of the extremist hate group, the Death Eaters. Do you have counsel representing you today?”

McGonagall rose from her seat beside Draco and looked at him reassuringly. “Minister, I will be representing Mr. Malfoy in today’s proceedings.”

Shacklebolt nodded and gestured to her. “Very well, you may present your opening statement.”

McGonagall looked at the assembled Wizengamot. “It is true that Draco Malfoy joined the Death Eaters knowing that he would be called upon to commit heinous acts against muggles and muggle-born wizards. However, when he joined the group, Mr. Malfoy was but fifteen years old, a child obligated to follow his father’s wishes.” Draco squirmed uncomfortably and heard several Wizengamot members whispering skeptically to each other. “Furthermore,” McGonagall continued, “when Mr. Malfoy could no longer justify his immoral actions, he began to spy for the Order of the Phoenix at great personal risk.” Draco knew this would be a bombshell—he heard stunned gasps from several of the Wizengamot members and those in the gallery behind him. “Mr. Malfoy’s actions as a spy for the Order saved lives, lessened injuries, and helped the Order achieve victory over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. We have secured several witnesses from the Order to attest to Mr. Malfoy’s redeeming actions. Firstly, we call Harry Potter to the stand.”

The shocked chatter among the Wizengamot and the gallery had grown to a dull roar—Harry Potter to defend Draco Malfoy?! Draco nearly chuckled, but caught himself, thinking it might look a bit flippant. Shacklebolt bellowed, “Silence!” before turning to Harry, who had made his way up to a podium to Draco’s left. “Mr. Potter, please proceed.”

Harry spoke with a clear, determined voice. “Ron, Hermione, and I were captured by snatchers and brought to Malfoy Manor a few months ago, to be handed over to Voldemort. Hermione, quite cleverly, hit my face with a stinging jinx so I wouldn’t be recognized. Draco, being the Death Eater who knew me the best, was brought forth to identify me.” Harry turned to look at Draco, his green eyes piercing Draco’s icy grey ones. “He knew exactly who I was, I’m sure of it. And he didn’t tell them. Draco Malfoy saved my life that day.”

Draco barely listened as Harry answered a few questions from Wizengamot members, staring in shock at his former nemesis. He’d been more worried than he’d care to admit about this trial, but with that testimony from the precious Chosen One, he stood a chance at escaping a stint in Azkaban. Draco eyed the young wizard thoughtfully, examining his dark navy robes—rather well cut, he noticed. Perhaps Potter had finally spent some of his inheritance on some decent tailoring. His normally unruly dark hair was still a bit disheveled, but almost purposefully so, and a lock fell in his face every so often if he shook his head emphatically enough. Before he knew it, Harry’s testimony was over, and Draco watched him return to the gallery, still stunned at this fortunate turn of events.

One by one, witnesses took the stand to testify on Draco’s behalf. Longbottom and the Weasley girl attested to the change in treatment of first years by the older Slytherins following Draco’s spy turn, as he’d instructed them to fake the Unforgiveable Curses to spare the first years’ pain. Granger and Weaselbee offered similar evidence to Harry’s, and Draco’s mother spoke to his character and the selflessness of his actions. _Self-preservation, more like,_ he thought bitterly to himself, _though I suppose I did it to save you too, Mum._ Lastly, McGonagall herself told the court of their conversation when he became a spy for the Order, and then it was Draco’s turn to make his remarks.

He rose from his chair inside the cage, the chains around his wrists clanging against the bars. Still, he held his head high as he looked up at the Wizengamot. “I joined the Death Eaters as a young, foolish child, taught to believe in their cause blindly. I joined, in large part, to make my father proud. I now see how utterly misguided that was.” He paused to clear his throat, then continued, “My father did not seek to honor the Malfoy name when he brought me to the Death Eaters. He sought to offer me as a sacrifice, as penance for his pitiful performance in the Dark Lord’s eyes. When I could no longer stomach the Dark Lord’s and my father’s treatment of myself and my mother, I knew I needed to find a way out.” Draco paused again, feeling the eyes of the gallery on the back of his head. “When the trio was brought to the manor, I witnessed the torture of one of my classmates at the hands of my deranged aunt. I’d seen and participated in violence before that, but… Shortly after that incident, I went to Professor Snape to speak to him about being a spy, and he brought me to Headmistress McGonagall,” he went on. “I regret every action I took as a Death Eater, apart from the ones that may have saved my classmates’ lives. I made terrible mistakes, and I will live with them forever,” he finished tightly before sitting back down.

Shacklebolt looked down at Draco with almost a pitying expression, which made Draco curl his lip slightly. He may be on trial here, but he was still a Malfoy—anything but pitiful. The Minister turned to his fellow Wizengamot members. “We will now open the floor for discussion.”

To Draco’s relief, several members affirmed that they felt leniency should be used, given Draco’s contributions to the Order. Then he heard a familiar “hem hem,” and nearly rolled his eyes at the sound. Umbridge rose in her chair, barely gaining any height, and spoke in a faux sweet tone. “Minister, I believe we are forgetting a crucial element of this boy’s past, which none of his witnesses have mentioned. Draco Malfoy,” she pointed a gnarled finger at him, “attempted to murder Albus Dumbledore several times and showed no remorse. Why should we believe him capable of it now?”

McGonagall stood—Draco almost wished he had a bowl of popcorn as he prepared to watch the showdown. “Ms. Umbridge,” McGonagall started with barely concealed disdain, “Mr. Malfoy has already been tried and acquitted of those charges, and they are irrelevant to today’s proceedings. Furthermore, while Mr. Malfoy may not have been outwardly remorseful when he was tried for those crimes, he certainly regrets them now—isn’t that right, Mr. Malfoy?” McGonagall looked at him sternly.

“Of course—I realize now how wrong I was,” Draco said quickly, looking up at Umbridge’s toady face.

She clicked her tongue and said, “But of course the Wizengamot is aware now that when the boy was tried, there were numerous Death Eaters serving in this court who have since been brought to justice! They were instrumental in acquitting Mr. Malfoy—perhaps the case should be reopened?”

McGonagall’s eyes blazed. “Perhaps not all of the Voldemort sympathizers have been rooted out of the Wizengamot, Ms. Umbridge. I seem to recall you having been tried on suspicion of aiding Death Eaters in their Ministry takeover—if we are to reopen Mr. Malfoy’s closed case, we should open yours as well!”

Dolores’ steely blue eyes flashed. “I was under the Imperius Curse; I’m sure Mr. Malfoy can make no such claim,” she intoned, but sat down and fell silent.

Shacklebolt took a vote, and Draco was relieved to see numerous hands raise to acquit him of all his charges. Several members, including Umbridge, raised their hands to convict him, but they were in the minority, and Shacklebolt looked at Draco. “Mr. Malfoy, you have been acquitted of the criminal charges brought against you, in light of the sacrifices you made to help the Order,” he said with a smile. “We are grateful for your service. You are released.” Kingsley waved his wand, and the cage surrounding Draco as well as the shackles around his wrists disappeared. He gave a small smile and nodded his thanks to the Minister before turning to find his mother.

~*oOo*~

Draco had just sent his mother home through the floo—he was staying in town to visit Ollivander’s and finally purchase a new wand. He hadn’t been allowed to have a wand under the terms of his house arrest, and he’d gone without one for far too long. As he turned to leave the Ministry, he ran into the golden trio, who were discussing something in low voices but stopped abruptly when they saw him.

Granger strode towards him first, proffering her hand, “Thank you for saving our lives. I’m glad you were on our side, in the end.” She spoke confidently, but her expression was tentative, like she thought Draco might suddenly decide to spit in her face and call her a Mudblood.

Draco looked at her, bemused, and shook her extended hand. “Thanks for the help in there, Granger. It’s nice to be free.”

The Weasel walked up beside Granger, eyeing Draco warily. “Yeah, thanks for not having us killed. Least you could you, I suppose.”

Granger looked at the redhead disapprovingly and they walked away, leaving Harry standing a few feet away watching Draco with a look of consternation. “Why didn’t you turn me in at Malfoy Manor?” he asked, stepping towards Draco slowly. “You weren’t a spy yet. You easily could have. Voldemort might have even rewarded you for it.” He looked at Draco quizzically.

Draco considered telling him the truth, but the pattern of their rivalry was familiar and comfortable, and he fell into it easily. “I couldn’t tell it was you,” he lied. “I mean, the face was ugly enough, but still—I just couldn’t say for sure.”

Harry snorted. “Right, we’ve only been bitter rivals for the past seven years, and it’s not like I have any distinguishing marks or scars.”

Draco scoffed. “Well, since your face was swollen to the size of your ego, I should have known it was you.”

To Draco’s surprise, Harry laughed breezily. “I’ve earned this ego—Chosen One and all that. What’s your excuse?”

“Well, I don’t know; heir to the Malfoy fortune, dangerous ex-Death-Eater-turned-war-hero, and devastatingly handsome?” Draco replied with a smirk.

Harry grinned and shook his head. “I still don’t get why you did it, but I owe you. In fact,” he reached into the pocket of his robes, “I’d like to give you this—a gesture of good will, if you like.”

Harry pulled Draco’s hawthorn wand out of his robes and offered it to the blond wizard, who stood shocked. “I never thought—I just assumed you’d keep it, or destroy it, or something. That wand…”

“…killed Voldemort?” Harry finished for him, grinning smugly. “I think I had a hand in that as well, but yeah, this is the wand that did it. High time it was returned to its proper owner, don’t you think?”

Draco looked in Harry’s bold green eyes, searching them for a sign of a joke being played or a double cross about to be perpetrated. He tentatively grasped the wand and examined it, immediately feeling the warmth of the wand’s magic returning to him. He cleared his throat and looked back up at Potter’s bemused smile. “I… thanks, Potter.”

Harry grinned, then turned his head and spotted the Weasley girl waiting for him. “I should go—but listen, Malfoy, we should get a drink sometime. I’ll buy the first round, to say a proper thanks for saving my life,” he offered, still grinning genially.

Draco could feel his face starting to flush and he quickly covered it with his patented smirk. “You’ve already saved my life in the Room of Requirement, so no need for thanks, Potter. We’re even.” Draco felt the sudden need to leave there as soon as possible. He turned and headed to the Floo fireplaces, wondering if he’d made a mistake—he was going to be short on friends, now that his Death Eater pals were all either locked up in Azkaban or dead ( _Crabbe,_ he remembered suddenly). He shook his head as he recalled Harry’s piercing green eyes—he wasn’t sure his feelings toward the wizard were entirely friendly.

The surprises seemed unending as Draco heard Harry yell, “I’ll owl you!” after him, and he smirked triumphantly as he left the Ministry.

~*oOo*~

Hermione and Ron walked towards the phone booth that led to the Ministry—they’d had a lovely lunch together after Malfoy’s trial, and Ron was returning to the Ministry for auror training. “Have you decided if you’re going back to Hogwarts yet?” he asked Hermione as they arrived at the red booth.

“Not yet,” Hermione frowned. “I’d love to continue my education, of course, but I’m just not sure Hogwarts is the place I should be right now.”

Ron furrowed his brow, confused by this statement, but then smiled reassuringly. “Well, you’ll figure it out—you always do.” Hermione beamed at him, kissing him sweetly before sending him into the phone booth. She turned and headed towards Diagon Alley. When she arrived at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, she headed up a set of stairs beside the shop which led to the twins’ flat above.

Hermione let herself in and called out hesitantly, “Fred?” She received no answer, and proceeded gingerly into the apartment toward Fred’s room. She knocked lightly before entering.

She found Fred seated on his bed, idly tossing a ball which changed colors every time he caught it. His wavy red hair obscured his face, but he looked up when she entered and offered her a soft, “Hello, Hermione,” before returning to tossing the ball. Hermione's breath caught in her throat. _Fred. Alive._ She wasn't used to it yet. 

“That’s a neat trick,” she said, gesturing to the ball. “New product?”

Fred caught it and held it up to his face. “Yeah, George and I were working on them right before we went into hiding. Trying to get into the toddler market—small hovering brooms, stuffed growling hippogriffs, things like that.”

Hermione nodded, giving him a wide berth as she sat at his desk. “Seems very sensible.”

Fred snorted and looked at her suddenly, “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

Hermione shifted in her seat. “Do what?” she asked.

Fred raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re sitting as far away from me as possible. It’s like you’re scared of me or something—sweet, innocent me!” He blinked his icy blue eyes at her and cracked a grin. He’d started joking again sometimes, and it always made Hermione’s chest swell. Those were the moments she knew he really was back.

She moved to sit at the foot of his bed. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be distant—I’m so happy you’re back, you’ve no idea,” she reassured him. Fred tossed the ball again, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I just don’t want to overwhelm you—but you must know I have _so_ many questions,” she went on enthusiastically.

Fred rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. Well, ask away.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Are you sure? It’s ok if you’re not ready to talk about it…”

Fred caught the ball and looked at her pointedly. “Talk about what?” he asked, daring her to answer.

She eyed him carefully, “You know what I mean. Where you were. What it was like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I couldn't resist making you wait a little longer to hear what happened to Fred--I'm only human, forgive me. Comment if you like!


	8. Limbo

**a river of blue fire. a river of black water. a hole in his stomach. saintlike. holey. funny—not funny. purple shadows that move without light. a gold glow that spoke to him. “I believe your time here is nearing its end, Fred Weasley.” “But—where will I go from here?” he asked. his voice sounded as if he were underwater. the gold glow seemed to think for a moment. “Most go on, further beyond the veil. But you must go back to go forward,” it reasoned. he stepped towards the gold glow. “Will I come back here someday?” the gold glow smiled (can glows smile? yes, it would seem). “You will, but not in the way you’re thinking.” the glow turned as a silver light beamed towards him, shining brighter and brighter until it engulfed him completely. “See you soon, Fred W—”**

~*oOo*~

Fred shook his head and looked at Hermione. “I don’t remember much, honestly. It was kind of like a loop, like things kept happening over and over but they slipped out of my brain.” He scrunched up his face, trying to keep a firm grip on his memories of the place. “It was cold, but I didn’t exactly feel cold. I just felt… numb, really. There were all these shadows everywhere, but no light, and a river…” he sighed. “I dunno, it’s really hazy. How long was I there?”

“A little over two weeks,” Hermione replied, “George and I worked the spell as fast as we could to bring you back.”

Fred paused, surprised by her answer. “It felt like longer.”

Hermione reached out and took his hand, then looked at him, shocked. “You’re freezing!” she exclaimed.

Fred shrugged, “Yeah, I’ve been like that since I got back. Must be some kind of side effect.” He stared at their hands—hers rich and brown, his pale and bloodless—concentrating on the warmth he felt from Hermione’s. A moment of silence passed.

Hermione began to babble nervously. “Well, I’m happy to report that you seem to be healing well—the bruises are nearly gone now. We assume they were from the wall that fell—from the blast, when you…” she faltered and pulled her hand away. Fred flexed his fingers—frozen again with no warm Hermione hand. “And—well, you seem to be in fine physical condition from what we can tell,” Hermione continued.

Fred looked up at her. “Yeah?” he questioned, looking at her pointedly with his ice blue eyes. “Are you sure you’ve thoroughly examined me?” He felt a small grin creep on his face—teasing Hermione, something familiar at last.

Her eyes widened in bemused shock. “You know that’s not what I meant—honestly, Fred!”

Fred chuckled and began tossing the ball again, watching it change colors every time he caught it. Red. Blue. Green. Colors that made sense. Hermione continued, “Anyway, now that we’re sure you’re well, and that you’re…well, _you—”_ Fred snorted darkly— “George and I think it might be time to tell the rest of your family—when you’re ready, that is,” she added quickly, seeing Fred’s shoulders stiffen. He caught the ball and held it, but said nothing, examining it. Hermione prodded, “Everyone’s missed you so much—your mum and dad, and Ginny and your brothers—Ron will be particularly glad to see you, he’s been so distraught.”

Fred eyed Hermione probingly at the mention of his youngest brother, then resumed tossing the ball. “Yeah, how is little Ronnie holding up? You two war heroes keeping each other’s feet on the ground?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, Ron is certainly loving the spotlight, for once. But it’s been hard for him—we’ve been helping each other through it as best we can,” she finished vaguely. Fred sighed; she wasn’t saying anything, but he could just _feel_ that something had happened between Ron and Hermione. It was practically the only thing he could feel, besides freezing cold, he thought glumly.

“I’m not ready to tell the whole family yet,” Fred announced. “I will be, soon I hope, but for now… I just have too many questions.”

Hermione visibly brightened. “Well, that makes two of us! I’ve been researching in the _Arcanum Gemini Magicae,_ and it’s utterly fascinating, but it’s certainly nothing compared to a first-hand account of the realm beyond the veil,” she finished breathlessly. “Perhaps we can answer each other’s questions.”

Fred grinned— _what an irresistible swot,_ he thought fondly. “Worth a try, anyway. So—where was I?” he asked.

Hermione frowned, “Unfortunately, not much is known about that realm, but it seems you were in some sort of limbo, immediately beyond the veil. Since part of your soul still existed in this realm, you couldn’t stray too far from the boundary between the two worlds. At least, that’s what George and I can gather from the _Arcanum,_ and from a few other references McGonagall let me borrow from Hogwarts.”

Fred nodded, “That makes sense—everything felt sort of in-between there—neither light nor dark, hot nor cold. And I guess I was neither living nor dead, either,” he laughed darkly. _Was?_ he thought, but quickly brushed the thought aside. “Will I be different?” Fred asked.

Hermione hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “The book doesn’t tell us much about that. Obviously you’ve had an extraordinary experience, and that alone can change a person. But coming from… where you were… we just don’t know enough about it,” she finished. “I’m sorry.”

Fred grimaced and shook his head. “Hey, not your fault I hid my soul in a pocket watch and got on a crumbling wall’s bad side,” he joked through gritted teeth.

Hermione inched closer to him, nearly whispering, “There is a passage in the book that says the spell wasn’t enough to fully bring you back—it says the bond must be sealed, whatever that means, or the lost soul will remain locked between the living and the space beyond the veil. We haven’t deciphered it yet—but that might explain some of your lingering side effects,” she said, brushing his cold hand and shivering. “Have you noticed anything else that’s different?” she asked, tilting her head and examining him.

 _The dreams_ , Fred thought and shivered. “Well, my eyes are this dazzling shade of blue now,” he pointed out. “Between that and the missing ear, George and I will never be able to trick anyone into thinking I’m him and he’s me,” he lamented.

Hermione giggled, “What a shame. We’re not sure about the eyes; the book didn’t mention it.”

Fred leaned closer to Hermione, looking her directly in her deep brown eyes. “Well I think it’s a strong new look for me—what do you think? Do you like them?” He fixed her with what he hoped was a suggestive stare.

Hermione seemed to lean in almost imperceptibly, then faltered and drew back. “Yes. They remind me of Ron’s eyes.” Fred groaned and fell back on his bed.

~*oOo*~

“Damn!” Fred exclaimed with a cough, smoke billowing around him. He waved his hands and managed to shout, “ _Evanesco!”_ to clear the hazy air. He was in the WWW workshop, trying to brew a Truth or Dare potion that would compel the drinker to either answer one question utterly truthfully or complete one dare. He’d successfully made a version of the potion, but found it lasted for too long and made the drinker vulnerable to all sorts of mean-spirited dares. He needed to find a way to dilute the potion so that its effects only lasted for one question or dare and didn’t force the drinker to put themselves in any sort of deadly danger for a silly game. He’d thought a bit of castor oil would do the trick, but it seemed to have had an adverse reaction to the sopophorous beans.

George came rushing into the workshop. “What happened?” he exclaimed. “Having all the fun without me?”

Fred grinned, “Well someone’s got to do the boring, run-the-store part of the job, and since I’m a dead man walking, it has to be you, Georgie boy.”

George raised his eyebrows. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were putting off our post-resurrection family reunion so you could explode things in our workshop all day.”

Fred looked at him innocently. “But it’s been the happiest time of my undead life. I’m not sure I want it to end just yet.”

George crossed over to him and peered into the still-smoking cauldron. “Ah, you tried castor oil, huh? Really thought that would work,” he mused, then patted Fred on the back. “You’ll crack it in the end, mate. Listen, I know it’s a lot to handle, but the family’s been a wreck without you. I think it’ll do you good to see them too. I don’t want to rush you—but Mum keeps hinting that I should move back home and out of our lonely, grief-stricken flat to be with family, and I’d really like to put that idea out of her head as soon as possible,” George pointed out seriously.

Fred frowned. “I know it’d be brilliant to see them all—and maybe it would help, but I just—” he looked down and noticed his fingers were mindlessly drumming on the counter, and folded his hands to stop them. “I thought if I waited a bit, maybe I’d… you know, get better, feel a bit more normal. I thought it might just take time for me to defrost a bit, but it's been a week and I’m still a bloody corpsicle with weird blue eyes and a fun new habit of screaming in my sleep,” he quipped.

George smiled sympathetically, “It’ll be difficult no matter when we do it. The longer we wait, the harder it will be.”

Fred sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t put it off any longer, should I? When’s the next Weasley clan dinner?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some revelations, but plenty of mystery still left. Next week, it's dinner with the Weasleys!


	9. Lovers and Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK listen--this starts with a SMALL bit of Ron/Hermione action. They're together and it had to happen, though I'm not loving it. Let's just get through it together, and eventually I promise plenty of Fremione to make up for it!

“Oh, Merlin, that feels good, Hermione—I’m nearly there, did you—?”

“Yeah, I did earlier—”

“Good, I—ohhh…” Ron’s eyes closed as he came, breathing heavily. Hermione looked up at him, his face two inches from hers, and kissed him tenderly as his breathing returned to normal. Ron pulled back from the kiss, smiling at her, then flopped over on his bed beside her. Hermione looked up at the ceiling, recalling the first time she and Ron had sex about three weeks ago. They’d just moved into Grimmauld Place after the Battle of Hogwarts where she and Ron had shared their first kiss, all passion and intensity in the heat of battle. She smiled as she remembered how she’d tentatively crept to his bedroom after they’d all gone to bed under the pretense of not being able to sleep—“I got so used to all of us sleeping together while we were on the horcrux hunt,” she’d said, a flimsy excuse. Ron had simply grabbed her hand and said, “I’m glad you came,” as he led her to his bed. It was the first time for both of them, and he had been gentle, adoring, and a bit in disbelief that it was actually happening. Hermione had marveled at the intensity of the love she felt for him, unlike anything she’d known before—her best friend and her lover.

Though they still had their separate rooms, they’d spent most of the following nights in Ron’s room—sometimes just sleeping together, and sometimes more. Each time he’d been sweet, tender, and attentive—always nice, Hermione thought, if a bit lacking in passion. She knew it was bound to be a bit awkward going from being friends to lovers, but they loved each other already—shouldn’t there be more fireworks? Ron hadn’t said anything about it, but Hermione wondered if he felt the same. She shook her head—maybe this was just what sex was like. It wasn’t like she had anything else to compare it to.

Ron turned to look at her and kissed her sweetly. “That was nice,” he hummed contentedly.

Hermione smiled and nodded, “Very.” Her mind was whirring: _nice like great, or nice like okay?_

“Oh, before I forget,” Ron said suddenly, “Mum asked us to make a salad for dinner at the Burrow tonight—I’m glad you twisted her arm into letting us at least bring something, Hermione. She deserves a night off, I don’t know why she still insists on cooking everything.”

Hermione smiled—Ron really had become a better listener in recent times, and more considerate too. She hopped up, “Right, I’m on it,” and made to leave, still stark naked.

Ron laughed and pulled her back to bed. “Not so fast! We’ve got hours still. Stay and have a lazy morning with me,” he yawned, pulling her into the crook of his arm.

Hermione tutted in mock protest, “As if I’ve ever had a lazy anything… but fine,” she sighed, “I suppose that sounds lovely.” She smiled as she heard him chuckle deeply, her head laid on his chest. Before too long, she knew from the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest that Ron had fallen asleep, and Hermione crept out of bed, put on her dressing gown silently, and left the room and Ron to his lazy morning.

Hermione walked to the bathroom—nothing she liked better after a long night than a nice minty tooth brushing—but stopped when she heard an owl tapping on the hall window. She opened the latch and retrieved the note from the owl’s foot, recognizing him as George’s tawny owl. She directed him toward the treats downstairs, and he flapped off, leaving Hermione to read the note:

_He’s ready to do it tonight. Stick to the plan. –G_

Hermione folded the note and put it in the pocket of her dressing gown, a sudden thrill of nervous pixies in her belly. Tonight was going to be monumental for the Weasley’s, and most of them didn’t even know it yet.

“Who was that from?” Hermione whirled around, slightly panicking at having been caught. Harry had popped his head out of his room. “I heard an owl tapping,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Anything good?”

Hermione blinked and shook her head, thinking quickly. “Molly was just making sure we’re coming tonight and that we’re bringing salad,” she lied.

Harry laughed, “Again? Merlin, she is insistent about these dinners.” Hermione simply shrugged as she headed toward the bathroom. “Let me know if any other owls come, yeah?” Harry called after her.

Hermione turned over her shoulder, “Oh, of course! Are you expecting one from anyone in particular?”

To her surprise, Harry’s eyes looked slightly panicked, and he spoke evasively, “No, no, just—if there’s a change in the auror trainee schedule, which happens quite often, really. Or I thought Ginny might—but, just let me know, yeah?” Hermione smiled a half-smile and nodded, wondering what was going on there as she pushed open the bathroom door.

~*oOo*~

Hermione took a drink of her butterbeer and grabbed Ron’s hand, surveying the scene laid out before her at the Burrow. Dinner was nearly ready and the table was set, Hermione’s modest cucumber salad dwarfed by the staggering amount of food Molly had prepared. She did allow Ginny, Bill, and Fleur to assist her in the kitchen at various points in the evening, with varying levels of success. Bill had chopped the vegetables (“He can’t cook the meat—he makes it far too rare!” Molly had proclaimed) and was now bringing the roast to the table. Ginny had started on vegetable chopping duty, but her erratic technique worried Molly too much, and she sent her daughter to the living room where she had fetched everyone a butterbeer (“This is the type of cooking I can handle,” Ginny had remarked as she cracked open a butterbeer and settled next to Harry on the couch). Fleur was handling the bread “ze French way,” and the everyone else was settled in the living room—save George, who was coming later.

The pall cast by Fred’s death was still palpable among the Weasley’s, but they were starting to return to a semi-normal rhythm. Percy and Arthur were grilling Harry and Ron about their auror training, delighted to have two new additions to Ministry life. Ginny rolled her eyes every time her dad remarked on how dangerous the job sounded, and snuggled closer to Harry. Hermione wondered if she and Ron should be like that—would they ever be like that? She turned to her boyfriend beside her, who smiled sheepishly as she’d caught him trying to balance a butterbeer cap on his nose. It fell, and she laughed—he really was endearingly clueless sometimes.

Suddenly, the front door burst open. “Hullo family!” George bellowed. “Pardon my tardiness—work has been a bit explosive,” he said, brushing a bit of ash off his shoulder. “What’d I miss?”

Molly huffed. “George, you’re nearly an hour late! We were about to start without you.” Hermione got up and surreptitiously crept toward the drinks cart, pretending to need another butterbeer.

“Apologies all,” George said breezily, “but I come bearing gifts.” He pulled two items out of his robe pockets—an empty Pensieve, and a small arrow with the name “Fred” on it. Hermione saw Ron’s eyes widen as he recognized it as one of the arrows from Mrs. Weasley’s family clock. When they’d returned home from the Battle of Hogwarts and seen Fred’s arrow pointing toward “Lost,” Molly removed the arrow and put the entire clock in a drawer.

Mrs. Weasley blinked and looked as though she could barely choke out her words. “George—is this some kind of joke? What’s going on?” she asked carefully.

George shook his head, his face suddenly serious. “No joke, Mum.”

“Though it is a bit dramatic…” Hermione added under her breath as she fetched the Weasley clock from its drawer and holding it toward Mrs. Weasley.

“And what would a Weasley reunion be without a bit of dramatic flair, Hermione?” George proclaimed brightly. “Mum, I want you to take this arrow and put it back on the clock. I think you’ll find it pointing in a different direction.”

Hermione held the clock out to Molly, gently reassuring her, “It’s ok. It’s not a trick.” Molly still looked hesitant, but took the clock. She raised her wand to Fred’s missing arrow and floated it toward the clock face, reattaching it with a flick. The entire family watched with bated breath as the arrow briefly quivered, then slowly travelled to land on the space labelled “Home.”

No one spoke as the Weasleys struggled to determine what this meant. At last, Arthur spoke, “I think you’d better explain what’s going on, George.”

“With pleasure, Dad!” George exclaimed, holding his wand to his head and pulling out silvery strands of memories as he thrust them into the Pensieve. “Time for a trip down memory lane.”

Ron blinked. “Hermione, what does this mean?”

Hermione squeezed his hand. “Take a look and find out.” Ron shook his head incredulously and bent to look in the Pensieve, followed by the rest of the Weasley clan. George stayed behind holding the Pensieve and nodded at Hermione, who promptly slipped out through the front door.

~*oOo*~

Fred was standing outside the Burrow, nervously tossing the color-changing ball as he waited for George’s signal to enter. He needed something to do with his hands, somewhere to direct his energy—and besides, if he didn’t move his fingers, he felt like they might develop frostbite and snap off. He caught the ball and stuffed it in the pocket of his jacket as he ran his fingers along the bricks of his childhood home. It felt good just to _feel_ the sturdiness of it—to know that it was still here, still the same, despite all the changes that had happened to him.

He jumped when the door opened and Hermione stepped out. “Geez, Hermione—I thought you were my mum about to get the shock of her life,” he breathed, his heart rate settling.

“Sorry,” she said, “I just thought I’d see how you’re holding up. Feeling ready?”

Fred shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from drumming his fingers. “Ready as ever, I suppose.”

Hermione stepped toward him and smiled reassuringly. “You’ll feel better once it’s over, I know it. I’m glad George is explaining so you don’t have to.”

“A stroke of genius on my part, if I do say so. Make him do the heavy lifting, and swoop in for the happy reunion,” Fred chuckled, then exhaled slowly. “Yeah, it’s time to rejoin the living. George has really helped me readjust over this past week, given me loads of new products to tinker with,” he said, his eyes lighting up. He met Hermione’s gaze as she watched him, listening intently. “And you’ve helped too,” he said a bit more softly.

Hermione frowned. “I couldn’t be there as often as I would’ve liked—I just didn’t want to rouse Harry and Ron’s suspicion,” she explained.

Fred laughed, “Especially with Ron’s jealous streak, the git.” Hermione looked at him in confusion, and Fred went on, “You know you can talk to me about you and Ron—I sensed there was something going on,” he said as she opened her mouth in protest. “It was always gonna happen with you and my brother, I think. Despite my best efforts to lead you to the arms of another Weasley,” he sighed dramatically.

Hermione giggled as she gently smacked him on the chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said, wincing. “I just thought, with everything that’s happened to you, that it might be—difficult to process, on top of everything else.”

Fred laughed what he hoped was a breezy, carefree laugh. “I appreciate the concern, Hermione, but you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m just focused on getting a life at the minute. And it’s happy news, you and Ron! It doesn’t bother me, I promise,” he said, hoping he came off as smiling and not gritting his teeth.

Hermione didn’t seem to suspect any discomfort, and said, “Well good! Yes, of course it’s happy news, I mean we’ve been best friends for ages. We’ve been keeping it relatively quiet though, because it’s just so new. I don’t know,” she sighed, looking out at the front garden. Fred watched her, sensing the wheels turning in her head. She turned to look at him again, “I know you and I—at times it seemed like we might—”

At that moment George opened the front door and poked his head through, smiling when he saw his brother. “It’s time. Ready Forge?”

Fred grinned. “Ready Gred.” He and Hermione stepped inside, and he stood next to George, who was still holding the Pensieve. It shuddered as the rest of the Weasleys swirled out of the silvery water, shook their heads, and blinked at the sight of the twins together again. No one spoke for a moment, and Fred felt he couldn’t bear the silence. He and George looked at each other, then back at their family.

“Seeing double?” they asked in unison.


	10. Topsy Turvy

After weeks of limbo, feeling nothing but in-between, fuzzy, and incorporeal, Fred was smothered by hug after bone-crunching hug from each member of the Weasley family in turn. Grateful as he was to be back and reunited with his family, he wondered if a small part of him preferred disembodied numbness to this overflow of physical affection.

“Oh Fred! It’s really you!” Molly Weasley sobbed as she wrapped him in a tight embrace. Fred laughed affably, if a bit uncomfortably. Extreme shows of genuine emotion weren’t really his style—he preferred a good joke to a maudlin display any day.

“That’s amazing, Mum, you’ve finally learned to tell George and I apart,” Fred joked lightly, patting his mother’s shoulder.

Molly shook her head in disbelief and took Fred’s face in her hands. “My goodness, it’s wonderful to have you back, love.” She squinted, examining him. “What’s wrong with your eyes? They’re blue now, is that alright?” She looked questioningly at George, then Hermione.

“We think it’s a harmless side effect of the spell,” Hermione offered helpfully. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Ah, well,” said Molly affectionately, giving Fred a pat on the cheek. “They look just like Ron’s eyes now, don’t they?”

George looked at Fred appraisingly. “You’re right, Mum. A remarkable likeness.”

“Uncanny, even,” Fred grinned, looking at Ron. 

“Like looking in a mirror, I imagine,” cackled George

“It’s almost like we’re—”

“Alright you two, that’s enough,” Molly interjected with a hint of exasperation, though she had a grateful glint in her eye. _Bet she never thought she’d be able to scold the two of us again,_ Fred thought fondly. _Good old Mum._

Ron was next to approach Fred, a happy yet dazed expression on his face. “I can’t believe you’re really back. I know George explained, but I still don’t understand how—”

“Hermione can explain it to you later, like she usually does,” Fred said with a wink at Hermione, who was hovering just behind her boyfriend. “Without her, I wouldn’t be here.”

Ron still looked confused, but seemed unfazed by it as he abruptly pulled his brother into a fierce hug. “However it happened, I’m glad you’re back.” When he pulled back from the hug, his eyes were swimming, and he hid his face as he walked off, mumbling something about needing a drink.

Hermione lingered and stood beside Fred, elbowing him in the side. “How does it feel to rejoin the land of the living?”

He laughed and caught her eye. “A bit like I’m walking on the ceiling—everything’s familiar, but ultimately all upside-down.”

~*oOo*~

“‘Patented Daydream Charms—one simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable…’ you know, that really is extraordinary magic!” Hermione exclaimed to Harry, who nodded in amusement. She wasn’t thrilled to be giving the twins any compliment at the moment, since she was currently sporting a black eye from one of their punching telescopes; but she had to give credit where credit was due. 

Hermione heard a familiar low voice behind her: “For that, Hermione, you can have one for free.” She whirled to see Fred grinning proudly in a dapper set of magenta robes. _It’s almost annoying how well he pulls that off,_ she thought with a smile. His face fell slightly when he saw her, however. “What’s happened to your eye, Hermione?”

She touched the purple shiner gingerly and narrowed her eyes at him. “Your punching telescope.”

Fred winced and went a bit pink in his cheeks. “Oh blimey, I forgot about those.” He handed her a tub of thick yellow paste and told her to dab it on her bruise to remove it.

Hermione raised a skeptical eyebrow at Fred. “It is _safe,_ isn’t it?”

“’Course it is,” Fred grinned and winked at her, then ushered Harry toward the back of the shop to give him a tour. Hermione found a nearby mirror and dabbed on the paste—it seemed to be working straight away, but who could be sure that the mirror wasn’t bewitched to make the viewer see what they wanted to see? She sighed; she supposed she’d just have to trust Fred. _Difficult to trust a prankster, though_ , she thought as she watched him excitedly escorting Harry to a muggle magic display. _How can you tell when he’s joking or not?_

Soon Fred returned with Harry in tow and led the group to the WonderWitch section, and Hermione felt her familiar ire rising—selling love potions? What were they thinking? Just as she was about to berate them, the twins started to admonish Ginny about the rate at which she was going through boyfriends ( _certainly none of their business_ , Hermione thought with a scoff). Clearly Ginny agreed, because she put them in their place as only a sister can—with a scathing tirade.

Suddenly, Harry and Ron pulled Hermione away—they’d just seen Malfoy through the window walking alone and fast. Harry seemed determined to follow him, and pulled out his Invisibility Cloak, “Get under here, quick.”

“Oh—I don’t know, Harry,” Hermione said, sneaking a glance over her shoulder at Fred, who was helping a customer.

“Come on Hermione,” Ron hissed, “or we’ll lose him.”

“Ah, what’s the use? He’s probably not up to anything more insidious than back-to-school shopping!” Hermione whispered exasperatedly. “You two go by yourselves if you’re so bothered!” She whirled around in a huff and felt a cloak being thrown over her and a strong arm around her shoulder leading her away.

“Harry!” she whispered, “I said go without me!”

“They did,” she heard a low chuckle, and looked up to see Fred smirking at her. “Harry’s not the only one with an invisibility cloak, love. You can have your very own for 19 Galleons and 5 Sickles.”

She rolled her eyes. “I should have known. Just where are you taking me?”

Fred grinned. “To show you some real magic—if you thought the daydream charm was impressive, just wait till you see what’s in the back.” He led Hermione to a door behind the register and ushered them both through it, then pulled off the invisibility cloak.

Hermione gaped at the workroom, its many tables covered in piles of ingredients, bubbling cauldrons, scribbled-on papers, and prototypes of new products. It had an atmosphere of barely contained chaos—some of the piles reached up to the ceiling, and there seemed to be a permanent haze in the air, as if an explosion had just occurred. Fred led her to a table near the back corner, which was labeled “Tasting Area.” She recognized some of their contemptible Skiving Snackboxes in various jars, as well as several fizzing bright liquids and candies she’d never seen before.

“Here,” Fred said, handing her what looked like—a Curly Wurly?

“But—this is a muggle sweet! How do you know about these?” Hermione asked, astonished.

Fred chuckled. “It’s not exactly the same. George and I were looking for inspiration for our new line of candy, and we discovered these tasty delights in a corner shop.” He grabbed one and held it aloft, but didn’t take a bite yet. “We call this a Topsy Turvy.” He bit the candy and disappeared. Hermione looked around, concerned.

“Oi!” she heard Fred call from above her. She looked up and saw him standing upside-down on the ceiling, directly above the spot where he’d eaten the candy. She giggled. “Ingenious! How does it work?”

Fred beamed at the compliment. “Each bite you take will switch your perspective from upside-down to right-side-up or vice versa—just make sure you take an even number of bites, or you’ll get stuck up here,” he cautioned with a wink.

Hermione shook her head in amazement, then climbed on the Tasting Area table to get a better look at him. “How’s the view from up there?” she asked as she stood up, and found she was nearly face-to-face with upside-down Fred.

He put a hand to Hermione’s smooth dark cheek. “Breathtaking,” he said, a lopsided smile on his face as he drew her closer and brought his lips to hers. Hermione’s heart beat faster as Fred parted her lips with his tongue. She brought a hand to his hair and tangled it in his red tresses, her other hand still clutching the candy he’d given her. After a moment, she stepped back, grinned, and bit down on the Topsy Turvy she was holding.

She immediately found herself upside-down, facing Fred on the ceiling. She looked down and stumbled a bit—the perspective change was quite disorienting. Fred reached out to steady her. “Whoa, easy now,” he said, laughing. “It’s a long way to fall.” Hermione looked at him with sudden fear in her eyes, and he immediately regretted his joke. “Oh no, I’m only kidding—I forgot about your thing with heights, Hermione,” he said ruefully. “It’s perfectly safe up here. If you fell, you’d just land on the ceiling. Mind, you might knock over some of our research,” he added, glancing around at the tall piles of papers and boxes surrounding them. “But you won’t get hurt, I promise.”

Hermione was clutching on to Fred a bit too tightly as she looked toward the ground. “If you say so,” she said cautiously.

Fred smiled at her, then suddenly swooped her up in a fireman’s carry, causing Hermione to yelp in surprise. Fred whirled her around, carefully avoiding the precarious piles of research, as she clung to him with her eyes tightly shut. “See?” he said, jumping up and down a bit to demonstrate. “We’re safely rooted to the ceiling. And the whole point is to look around, get a new perspective!” He leaned to whisper in her ear. “I’ve got you—open your eyes, love.”

Hermione tentatively pried her eyes open, and looked down at the workshop. From up high, she could see burn marks on the floor from past experiments, footsteps where she and Fred had walked through ash in one area. She found she wasn’t quite so afraid of falling as she thought she’d be. She looked at Fred with wonder. “How did you do this?”

He set her down, keeping his hands settled on her waist. “Magic,” he grinned as he pulled her close.

But before their lips could touch again, George burst into the workroom, clearly searching for something. Hermione and Fred ducked down (or rather, up) toward the ceiling and behind a pile of papers as George searched—it appeared he hadn’t seen them. Finally he grabbed what looked like a tattered ledger and bellowed, apparently to no one in particular, “I think this is all I’ll need from the workroom for the next ten—” Fred coughed loudly, “—twenty minutes then. Right,” George continued, then exited back into the store.

Hermione exhaled the breath she’d been holding and sat next to Fred on the ceiling. He looked at her quizzically. “Had enough extraordinary magic for the day?” he asked.

Hermione smiled and leaned toward him. “Not yet,” she purred as she kissed him. She let her hands explore his firm chest, his slender yet strong arms, and his taut back, pulling him closer. Fred held her tightly and lowered her to the ceiling, climbing on top of her as he kissed her neck and nipped at her earlobe. His lips found their way back to hers and captured them in a searing kiss. Hermione’s breath quickened as their tongues intertwined and their bodies pressed against each other. Suddenly she gasped and drew back. Fred cocked his head to the side, panting slightly. “Fireworks!” she said excitedly. “I’ve just realized—you always smell faintly like fireworks!”

Fred grinned and raised his eyebrows. “We work with a lot of explosive materials in the workshop—gunpowder, fire seeds. Sorry if it’s putting you off…” he trailed off, looking sheepishly at her.

Hermione laughed. “No, I like it! You even taste like them,” she tugged lightly on his hair, reaching up to kiss him again. Her hands traveled to the clasp of his magenta robes, eager to feel his skin on hers. He broke their kiss to let her unclasp his robes and watched for a moment as they fell to the ceiling; she marveled at her hands exploring his bare chest. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up to sit in front of him, kissing her sweetly before helping her remove her robes. A small voice in Hermione’s brain reminded her that she’d never done this with anyone before, but she ignored it.

Fred looked at her admiringly. “Merlin, you’re sexy,” he breathed. “A sexy—” he kissed her jaw, “—swotty—” her neck, “—surprising—” her collarbone, “—beautiful witch.” He brought his lips to her left breast, just at the edge of the fabric of her bra, and kissed her while his hands traveled to her breasts. Hermione gasped, and Fred caught her open lips in a kiss as she writhed under his touch. She pressed him closer to her, digging her nails into his back.

They kissed and clung to each other for a while longer on the ceiling, each of them knowing they should get back to the others, but unable to pull themselves away. After a few minutes, Hermione gave him a soft peck on his lips and pulled back, shaking her head. “I feel light-headed,” she said.

Fred was still breathing heavily. “It must be because we’re upside-down.”

Hermione smiled wryly. “Yes, that must be it,” she murmured as she kissed him again. “We should probably come back down.” They found their robes and got dressed, each one seemingly unable to wipe the grin from their faces. Hermione grabbed her Topsy Turvy. “Ready?”

Fred nodded. They each took a bite at the same time and returned to the floor. They stumbled a bit but held onto each other for balance, laughing. Hermione looked in amazement at Fred. “I have to know how you made those.”

He chuckled. “Very persistent, aren’t you? Some things will have to remain a mystery.”

~*oOo*~

Hermione and Ron stepped through the Floo into Grimmauld Place after the long, emotionally draining dinner. Hermione could tell Ron had been barely holding in all the questions he had about Fred’s resurrection and her involvement in it. She looked at him reassuringly. “Let’s sit down.” She led him by the hand to the sofa and sat beside him.

Just as she was about to speak, Harry and Ginny crashed through the Floo, giggling. They’d both been elated to see Fred alive and well again, and apparently when they were in a good mood, there was only one thing on their minds. “Goodnight you two—Hermione, you will tell Mum I stayed in your room tonight, won’t you?” called Ginny over her shoulder as she led Harry to his room.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, as long as you cast a silencing charm!”

Ron grimaced as his ears turned pink. “Still not used to that,” he grumbled.

Hermione laughed. “I know, but it’s sweet, really—they get to simply be happy and in love now, after all those difficult times.” She squeezed Ron’s hand as he snorted. “I imagine you must have loads of questions. About Fred, I mean,” she said nervously.

Ron looked at her, eyes narrowed. “How exactly did you help with the potion? Why did George ask you?”

Hermione sighed. Maybe it was time to come clean to Ron about her past with Fred. “Before I answer that, I think I should tell you…while we were at Hogwarts, there were a few times when Fred and I… well… we kissed a bit.” Ron’s eyes widened. “A couple of times. Five or six, tops.”

Ron spluttered. “I can’t believe—well—did you love him?”

“Not like that. Not like you.” Hermione confirmed, and it was true—her lasting friendship with Ron meant that her love for him was unconditional and deep, not like the heady infatuation she’d felt for Fred. “But we were so young, and although it was fleeting, I think it was still… special to both of us. The spell called for offerings from the mother, brother, and lover of the deceased twin, and—and—” 

Ron was turning red now. “And obviously you were the lover?! What does this mean, Hermione?”

 _Be patient_ , Hermione reminded herself as she took a steadying breath. “It just means that because of our connection— _in the past,_ ” she emphasized, “I was able to save his life. I would have done the same for you, given the chance.”

Ron settled a bit at that. “Because… you love me?” he questioned hopefully.

Hermione smiled, “I do.” Inwardly she wondered what kind of love she felt for her new boyfriend, but she knew that detail could wait until later.

Ron’s face brightened in a lopsided smile. “Well, I love you too, ‘Mione.” He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly, sweetly. When he pulled back, he furrowed his brow and said, “I think I can understand why you didn’t tell me before about Fred. I mean, we’ve always had this—kind of—I guess I always thought we’d end up together, and I think maybe you did too?”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Well, there were times when I wasn’t sure. And times when I hated your guts—”

“I’ve apologized about Lavender how many times?!” Ron interjected.

“—but yes,” Hermione continued, smirking, “I did always kind of assume… or at least hope, that someday we’d be together.” She smiled sweetly at him.

Ron grinned. “’Course you did.” Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron continued slowly, working through the words as he said them, “And I’m sure it was strange for you—having those feelings for me, but also for one of my brothers—it must’ve been confusing, especially since we were so young.” He sighed and went on begrudgingly, “I suppose I can see why you didn’t feel comfortable telling me about it. Even though I’m your best friend,” he added, nudging her with his elbow.

Hermione’s jaw dropped, clearly impressed. “That’s actually quite insightful, Ron Weasley. I think maybe we can upgrade your emotional range to a tablespoon.”

Ron puffed out his chest proudly. “Or two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all for dealing with the Ron/Hermione scene last chapter, so I thought I'd reward you with a juicy Fremione flashback! Gotta get these two together in the main timeline...


	11. Drinks and Decisions

“So, Miss Granger,” Kingsley gestured for Hermione to take a seat as he moved to the chair behind his desk, “I imagine you must be wondering why I called you here.”

Hermione blinked. “If it’s about the auror trainee position, I’m still not interested, Minister. I’m sorry, it’s just not what I want—”

Kingsley waved his broad hand. “No, no, that’s perfectly fine, Miss Granger. I have a different position which I feel may appeal to your interests. I’m told you’ve shown a keen passion for the equal rights of house elves?”

“Oh yes—it’s appalling how they’ve been treated by wizarding families, and they really ought to have representation and a say in how our laws regarding their rights are structured—”

“I quite agree. In fact, we are restructuring the former Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It used to be that this division oversaw all non-human magical beings as well as creatures like dragons and grindylows; however, the time has come to recognize that magical beings are capable of speaking for themselves on their inclusion in wizarding society and government. Thus, we are creating the Department of Magical Being Cooperation, specifically tasked with diplomacy with the various living sentient magical beings as well as non-living spirits. Its staff will meet with leaders of magical being societies and advocate for their inclusion in our law-making processes and for laws which protect their rights as they themselves see fit.” Kingsley paused and looked at Hermione, whose jaw had nearly dropped to the floor. “Does this seem like something that would be up your street?”

Hermione spluttered, “Well—yes—I mean, this sounds like incredible work! I’m honored that you considered me for this.”

Kingsley beamed at her. “Hermione, you are tenacious, passionate, and resourceful—not to mention sharp as a tack. We’d be lucky to have you in the department.” He cleared his throat and continued. “If you accept, you’d be a junior negotiator, working under Edwardus Lima—”

“Wait—I know that name…” Hermione interjected. “ _The Monster Book of Monsters!_ He wrote that?” she asked incredulously.

Kingsley chuckled. “Yes, Edwardus has a delightfully literal sense of humor that I think you’ll enjoy. Your first task will be house elf representation in the Wizengamot, but you’ll go on to meet with centaurs, werewolves, goblins, and many other beings.”

Hermione sat in stunned silence, then spoke, “This is so unexpected, Prime Minister—and it sounds amazing, but I’m just not sure—”

“Please take some time and consider this offer; I don’t need an answer today. I know you have many paths to consider,” he said kindly. “I hope you will join us, but you must choose what’s right for you.”

~*oOo*~

“Over here, Hermione!”

Hermione whirled around with her tray and saw Ron and Harry waving at her from a table in the Ministry canteen. She hastened over to them and took a seat at their table.

“How was your meeting?” Ron asked after he swallowed a mouthful of bacon sandwich.

“Well, Kingsley offered me a job, and it sounds brilliant!” Hermione said excitedly. “It’s in the new Department for Magical Being Cooperation as a junior negotiator, working with house elves and all sorts of magical beings.”

“Hermione, that sounds perfect for you!” Harry exclaimed. “What did you tell him?”

“Well, I told him I’d think about it,” Hermione replied tentatively. “I mean, I’d certainly have the enthusiasm and passion for the job, but I don’t have any experience in diplomacy or training in magical law—I’m really not sure I’m qualified.”

“Are you kidding?” Ron laughed. “You’re the only one of us who paid attention in History of Magic to all those boring laws. C’mon Hermione—you know you’ll read a mountain of books and know more than most of the Wizengamot by tomorrow.”

Hermione smirked, “I suppose that’s true.” She liked Ron being the supportive boyfriend, always in her corner.

“Plus you were always nattering on about those house elves—now you might get to do something about it,” said Ron brightly, taking another bite of his sandwich, then coughing it up as Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. _Had to ruin it, didn’t he?_ she thought as she shook her head disapprovingly at him.

“Hey!” Harry yelled suddenly, and Hermione turned to see who he was yelling at. “Malfoy! Over here!”

Draco, who’d been walking at a breakneck pace so as not to be spotted by the golden trio, stopped and turned to walk toward them. “Potter, Weasley, Granger,” he greeted them curtly. “Sampling the fine cuisine of the Ministry canteen?”

“Ron, you have some crumbs on your robes,” Hermione whispered. Ron furiously brushed the crumbs off as Draco rolled his eyes.

“You never owled me back,” Harry said in a mock accusatory tone. “Too good to join us at the Leaky Cauldron for drinks?”

“WHAT?” bellowed Ron. Hermione and Harry both gave him a sharp glance, and he sighed. “I mean, you’re welcome to join, I suppose, I just… didn’t know,” he grumbled.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Tempting thought that invitation is, I’ve been rather busy,” he drawled lazily. “Dealing with some of the legalities of Father’s incarceration.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, her interest piqued. “I don’t mean to pry, but… wizarding penal laws are so fascinating.”

“I’m sure they are, from your perspective.” Draco sighed. “I’m trying to get the Manor transferred to Mother’s name, or to mine, if need be; but despite my father’s lifelong sentence, his assets cannot be seized or transferred. He’s paid all his required fines from our vaults, so he can retain his other assets, including the Manor.”

“Do you even want the Manor?” Harry wrinkled his nose.

Draco sniffed. “Not particularly.”

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Ron blurted out, “I can see why.”

Draco snorted a small laugh. “Yes, I can’t imagine why anyone would want to leave their childhood home after being held hostage there by a genocidal psychopath. I’ve taken a flat in London and wouldn’t bother with it at all, but Mother stills sees it as home.”

Hermione posed a question that had been troubling her ever since they’d testified for Draco at his trial. “So… you don’t agree with Voldemort’s mission anymore? You don’t believe in the superiority of pure blood?”

“Can’t see how I could, when a Muggleborn outperformed me in every class,” Draco stiffly informed her. “You made a bad Death Eater out of me, Granger.”

Hermione beamed as Harry chortled. “You know, you could be alright bloke if you loosen up a little, Malfoy.” He and Ron picked up their trays and stood, preparing to return to their auror training. “You should join us for drinks on Friday—Fred and George will be there!”

Draco blinked as his eyes widened. “Fred? Didn’t he—I apologize, but I thought Fred was—”

“—We all thought he was dead too,” Hermione interjected as she stood, “but it turns out he was actually in a deep coma. The healers call it Somnus Mortus, and it makes the comatose person appear dead. George had a hunch and had him taken to St. Mungo’s, where a team of healers figured out how to revive him, even after the family had held a funeral and everything.” Hermione delivered this speech breathlessly and looked at her two best friends on either side of her. _Not my best lying—I’ll get better at this story with practice,_ she assured herself. Besides, the lying wasn’t as bad as having to Obliviate a whole team of healers at St. Mungo’s, after what she’d done to her parents. She winced and hid her face.

Draco raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Strange indeed. I’ll be there on Friday.” He nodded to them all and turned around to leave, calling over his shoulder with a wave of his hand, “Owl me the details.”

Ron turned to Harry, shaking his hand. “I can’t believe you invited Malfoy to Friday drinks—what were you thinking?”

Harry shrugged. “Dunno really, I just think—we’re not kids anymore, and he did help out our side, in the end. I think it’s time to bury the hatchet.”

Hermione leaned close to whisper, “Do you think he bought the story about Fred?”

Ron leaned in to respond, “He could buy just about anything with the Malfoy riches, but I don’t think he bought that story, Hermione.” She turned to him and glared.

~*oOo*~

“So that’s three trick wands, a Patented Daydream charm, and an assorted box of Skiving Snackboxes—Hogwarts student, are you?” Fred asked the freckle-faced girl, their last shopper of the day. She grinned and handed him the total. “And here’s your change, love—give the headmistress our regards,” Fred said as he winked at her.

Fred sighed and rubbed his back. It’d been a long, busy day, and although he enjoyed interacting with the customers, these days left him more exhausted than they used to. Perhaps it was recounting the fabricated tale of his resurrection upwards of forty times a day, he thought with an eye roll. He walked into the workroom, where he discovered George standing quite close to Verity as he showed her their new line of bewitched muggle sporting equipment. “You see, they call this a cue, and in this game billy-yards, you use it to hit the little white ball into all the other ones.”

Fred hung back silently watching as Verity responded, fascinated. “I see! Can you show me how to hold it?”

George waggled his eyebrows. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As he leaned closer to her, Fred coughed. George and Verity jumped and looked at him. “Sorry, don’t let me interrupt,” he said, grinning. “I’m just passing through to our flat—but do take your time, brother dear. It’s important to test out our products,” he said innocently.

Verity shrugged. “I suppose I ought to be going anyway—good night Weasleys!” she said jovially as she gathered up her bag from a nearby table.

“Good night Verity,” George brushed her arm as she passed him. “We can continue the lesson tomorrow if you want.” Verity nodded at him and winked slyly before leaving the workroom. George barely masked his beaming smile as he turned toward Fred. “Shall we?” he asked, walking toward the stairs up to their flat.

Fred chuckled and followed. “Sorry I interrupted.”

“Nah,” George replied, “that was nothing, really. If you’d come in ten minutes earlier, that would’ve been an interruption.”

As the twins entered their flat, George flopped down onto their sofa. “I’m exhausted,” he proclaimed with a sigh.

“I know what you mean,” Fred replied, collapsing into a nearby armchair. “I’m dead on my feet.”

“Lucky we have Verity to help us in the shop, or we’d both be one foot in the grave,” George countered.

Fred raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure Verity is doing her part to wear you out.”

George grinned. “I can’t keep anything from you, mate. She’s a live one.”

“That’s really great, man. I’m happy for you.” Fred kicked off his shoes, attempting to mask the slight edge of jealousy in his voice. He was happy for George, really—but it was difficult not to compare his own situation with his twin brother’s.

George looked at his brother. “Well what about you? I thought you and Hermione would be making me heave up my breakfast at all hours by now,” he teased.

Fred hesitated. “I know it seemed like she might… especially after everything she did for me, with the spell and all… but she’s with Ron, for real, and she seems happy,” he sighed. “I’m trying to be her friend.”

George hissed through his teeth. “Oof. Friends. That hurts.”

Fred looked at him. “Not as much as the acute burning sensation of getting dragged out of limbo—thanks again for that mate,” he grinned sardonically.

“Anytime,” George smirked, then paused before continuing. “When we were doing that spell, Hermione seemed very interested in that watch.” Fred merely looked at his hands silently. “She gave it to you, didn’t she?”

Fred looked at his twin—his soulmate who had always read his thoughts and moods, who had saved him from an eternity in limbo. “I can’t keep anything from you, mate,” he sighed, taking the watch from his pocket and opening it. “She found it in the Room of Requirement one day—that day I hexed that prick Ernie Macmillan, do you remember?”

“Oh yeah—excellent bat bogey hex, wasn’t it?”

“That was the one. Ginny begged me afterward to teach it to her,” Fred smiled wistfully at the memory. “Anyway, Hermione said the room wanted me to have it, that it was some special old thing hidden in its depths.” He paused. “That was when I kissed her for the first time.”

“Blimey,” George breathed. He leaned forward to examine the watch. “What do the markings mean—the lion and the dragon hatching out of an egg? It’s weird, right?”

Fred shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. Definitely weird.” He snapped the watch shut and watched as the dragon and lion emerged from their egg, swirling around each other.

~*oOo*~

Draco adjusted the collar of his deep green button-down in the mirror. He checked the time: 9:25. _Perfect,_ he thought. 9:30 arrival for 9:00 drinks—late enough to be fashionable, but not late enough to be rude. He gave himself one final check in the mirror; he’d eschewed the wizard’s robes for muggle clothes tonight, a button down with a dark grey suit jacket (but no tie—casual yet stylish). His flat was in muggle London, close enough to walk to the Leaky Cauldron and enter Diagon Alley through the bricks in the back. He found he enjoyed the anonymity of living in the muggle world, even if he didn’t always enjoy dressing like a muggle to blend in. The suit jacket was starting to grow on him, though.

As Draco walked the six blocks from his flat to the Leaky Cauldron, he wondered what he was expecting tonight. Would the trio and their sycophantic sidekicks suddenly welcome him with open arms? Would he sit ignored, nursing a firewhisky and a sour attitude the whole time? What exactly _were_ they going to talk about? He sighed; he had a sneaking suspicion he knew why he was so keen to cozy up to Potter and his pals, and it had nothing to do with burying old rivalries. In fact, it had more to do with how the raven-haired wizard looked in his dashing navy blue robes.

Draco paused at the door of the Leaky to clear his head before striding into the dimly lit pub. He spotted the golden trio right away, at a large table toward the back corner of the bar. They were joined by the Weasley girl, Longbottom, Loony, and both of the Weasley twins— _interesting,_ Draco thought as he made his way over to their table.

As he got closer, he heard the group discussing Hermione’s plans for the next year— _loudly_ discussing, in Ron and Fred’s case, Draco noticed. He approached as he heard Ron shouting, “All I was saying was, she always loved Hogwarts and learning and all that, so why shouldn’t she go back?”

“I don’t know,” Draco drawled as the group whirled around and spotted him. “Perhaps after fighting for our lives in a bloody, devastating battle there, Hogwarts doesn’t hold the same nostalgic gleam it once had?”

Ron spluttered. Fred blinked in shock for a moment before banging his hand on the table. “Exactly! Thank you, ferret,” he added genuinely. Draco curled his lip.

Harry stood quickly. “Draco!” he said with emphasis, glaring at Fred. “Glad you could make it, mate. There’s a spot over here.” He patted a chair between himself and Longbottom.

Draco raised an eyebrow at Longbottom, who nearly paled at the prospect of sitting next to him, but said nothing as he took his seat between Longbottom and Potter. As another moment of silence passed, Draco decided to break it. “No need to stop the sparring on my account,” he intoned. “What were you squalling about as I approached, Weaselb— Ron?”

Ron’s eyes narrowed as Hermione put a hand on his arm and quickly interjected. “We were just discussing whether I should return to Hogwarts to finish seventh year or take the post the Minister for Magic has offered me as a junior negotiator in the Department of Magical Being Cooperation.”

“The new department?” Draco questioned, leaning toward Hermione a bit. “That’s a prestigious offer, Hermione. What exactly is tempting you back to Hogwarts?”

“I’m not—tempted, exactly,” she equivocated, glancing briefly toward Fred and making eye contact before meeting Draco’s gaze, “I’m just not sure what I want to do—there are so many pros and cons to consider. If I want to teach, I should really complete my education. But if I want to work in the Ministry, then perhaps I should take this opportunity. Then again, what if I’m underqualified for the position? My career could be over before it’s begun!” She halted to take a deep breath.

“That’s nonsense—of course you’re qualified. You’ll smash this job, Hermione! There’s no point in going back to Hogwarts now,” Fred argued.

“That’s not true,” Ron interrupted, “she just said she might want to teach, or get more qualified! She should at least consider it, if that’s what she wants.”

“It all depends what she wants, then,” Fred said coolly, his eyes boring into Ron’s. “Why exactly are you lobbying so hard for her to go to Hogwarts? You know if she went, you’d spend less time with her. She’s your girlfriend, is that really what you want?”

Draco glanced around the table to see what the others thought of this display of animosity; Longbottom looked deeply confused, and the Weasley girl and Potter were obliviously whispering to each other. This made Draco’s stomach tie into snakey knots, and he quickly averted his gaze across the table at Hermione, whose eyes narrowed with each lobbed argument; she seemed about to explode at any minute. Only George seemed amused, meeting Draco’s eyes with barely concealed mirth as he mouthed, “Enjoying the show?” Draco smirked and looked back at Ron.

Ron’s face reddened. “Of course I’d like her to stay, I just—I’m trying to be supportive, dammit, no matter what her decision!” He crossed his arms and sat back, glaring at Fred. “Is there some reason _you_ want her to stay so badly?”

Before Fred could answer, Hermione chimed in, “I appreciate this impassioned argument, boys. You’ve given me a lot to think about, but Ron’s right—I need to make my own decision.” She patted Ron’s arm as he smiled smugly at Fred.

Fred cocked a carefree grin that Draco could tell was carefully constructed, replying, “Well put, Hermione—the decision is yours, and you’ll make the right one.”

The Weasley girl—Ginny, Draco reminded himself—suddenly piped up. “Well, I wouldn’t mind having Hermione for some company my seventh year. Outside of Luna, who will I have to talk to—Moaning Myrtle?”

As Ginny loudly bemoaned the dearth of suitable conversationalists in her year, Draco carefully studied Ron and Fred, who were silently avoiding each other’s glances but clearly still heated from their exchange. Obviously Ron, as Hermione’s boyfriend, would be expected to have passionate opinions about her life—but why should Fred? Draco looked at Harry, who was engrossed in what his girlfriend was saying and seemed not to notice the tension between the Weasley brothers; although he briefly saw Draco staring and smiled.

Draco’s eyes widened and he offered what he hoped was an innocent, friendly smile before tearing his eyes away from the Boy Who Lived and turning them toward Fred. He strongly suspected the story he’d been fed about some deep magical coma was absolute shite; he’d never heard of such a thing, and when he’d looked it up, he’d found it was exceedingly rare and usually magically induced, often by spells or potions gone awry. Not likely to occur from mundane mayhem like being crushed by a falling wall. How had the red-headed prankster returned?

He decided to do a little sleuthing. “Delighted to see you in the flesh, Fred,” he drawled. “The last time I saw you…”

“I was six feet under?” Fred interrupted. “Yeah, well. Being dead—nearly dead, anyway—is not all it’s cracked up to be, so here I am,” he returned flippantly.

“Yes, I’d heard about the magical coma, but I haven’t heard the details—how were you revived exactly?” Draco probed.

“A team of healers and a week-long stay in the cheery fourth floor of St. Mungo’s,” George answered breezily.

“I see. Strange that everyone was convinced you were dead. The funeral was quite tasteful, I think you’ll be pleased to hear.”

Fred grinned. “So I’ve heard—shame I had to miss it.”

Draco smirked. “Is that what brought you back? Fear of—” he glanced at Hermione, who was chatting with Harry and Ginny, “—missing out?”

George snickered. “I think perhaps you’re not as subtle as you think, mate,” he said under his breath as he elbowed Fred, who dropped his signature grin to glower at Draco.

The blond wizard suddenly heard his name across the table. “It’s not like I’ll have a sworn enemy like you had with Draco to follow around the castle all the time!” Ginny complained to Harry. “And with my boyfriend far away, consumed with auror training, what will I do with my free time?”

Harry laughed. “Write to me, I hope.” He turned to Draco. “Sorry about the stalking there, mate. Had a hunch you were a Death Eater.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Ginny shook her head. “I think it’s partly a Seeker obsession. It wasn’t until I subbed in as Seeker that you even noticed me, Harry!” she teased.

Harry’s cheeks reddened slightly. “You may not have known, but I’d definitely noticed you before then,” he smiled at her, then turned to Draco. “Never date a Chaser, Draco. They never let anything go,” he quipped as he turned back to Ginny, who stuck her tongue out at him.

Draco felt jealousy rising like dragon fire in his gut. “Not in my experience,” he retorted in a low voice. Harry grinned at him, and his heartbeat quickened. _It seems socializing with the golden trio is nearly as dangerous as fighting a war against them,_ he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having so much fun with this, hope you all are too! Comment if you'd like :)


	12. Ice Cold

Draco ducked as Ginny hurled a bat bogey hex at him. “Merlin!” he exclaimed. It had been two months since he’d first attended Friday night drinks with the golden trio and their orbiting circle of hangers-on, and he’d joined them most Fridays since then—you’d think they’d have grasped his dry sense of humor by now. “You Gryffindors are so touchy—I merely suggested that—”

“Why on EARTH would I want to socialize with any Slytherins, Draco? They betrayed Harry at the Battle of Hogwarts—every single one of them!”

“Not me!” Draco pointed out. “Besides, I didn’t suggest _any_ Slytherin—I don’t know Astoria very well, but she seems like a lovely girl. A bit petty, perhaps, but sharp and quite funny, in my experience. Rather like a certain redhead I know.” He raised a teasing eyebrow at Ginny, who huffed and lowered her wand.

“Ugh. Fine,” she assented. “I’ll see if I can find her on the train back to Hogwarts tomorrow. Hermione, I still can’t believe you’ve abandoned me at Hogwarts for your swish new ministry job. Thank Merlin Luna and Neville decided to come back!”

Draco glanced at Longbottom, who blushed at the attention. _Still not used to being the dashing hero,_ Draco thought. _What a shame—he certainly looks the part._ Neville was still hiding behind bulky robes, as he did in his awkward childhood, but it was clear he’d left those days behind and acquired quite the impressive physique. _Shame all the straight ones are the fittest_ , Draco silently bemoaned.

“I’m not sure how much socializing I’ll be allowed to do with the students, Ginny,” Neville reminded her shyly. “I’ll be apprenticing Professor Sprout so that she can retire at the end of the school year.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Ginny exclaimed. “Gryffindor will need a new Head of House, now that McGonagall is Headmistress. It should be you, Neville!” Longbottom blushed redder than Draco had ever seen a person blush, and merely shrugged and hid his tiny smirk from the Weasley girl.

Draco rolled his eyes and changed the subject. “And Hermione, how is the Department of Magical Being Cooperation treating you?”

Hermione grinned. “It’s been hard work, but it’s really rewarding. My boss has me working on house elf relations at the minute, and I’ve been collaborating with Winky, so you might see me at Hogwarts every now and again, Ginny!”

Just then, Harry, who was sitting to Draco’s right, elbowed him in the ribs. “Look!” he pointed over to the bar, where a pretty blonde witch was watching Draco with apparent interest. She smiled when he looked at her, slowly taking a sip of her fairy wine before turning to the witch seated next to her.

Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry. “So?”

“So!” Harry whispered. “She’s fit, mate! You should at least go say hello. You’re _Witch Weekly’s_ most eligible bachelor, not the surliest.”

Draco sneered. “I regret even entertaining the notion of appearing in that rag. She’s not my type. All these girls are only interested in the notoriety,” he lamented, a bit too dramatically. Truth be told, witches hadn’t been his type since fifth year, when Graham Montague had confided in him about his harrowing experience in the Vanishing Cabinet and they’d shared a few passionate nights in the Slytherin locker rooms before the burly Chaser had told Draco he wasn’t really a “pouf.” _Charming,_ Draco thought.

“I can’t see why you don’t like her, Draco. I think she’s lovely,” a dreamy voice interjected. Harry and Draco looked over at Luna, who was eyeing the blonde witch with interest. “I’d approach her myself, but I’m not sure Dean would appreciate it. He and I haven’t discussed exclusivity though,” she pointed out thoughtfully, still staring at the blonde witch, whose back was mercifully turned toward them.

“Luna!” Harry said, stunned. “Are you—I’m not sure how to ask—”

“Pansexual?” Luna replied, looking Harry directly in his bright green eyes. “Yes. I don’t feel I need to limit my sexuality to any particular gender. I’m more attracted to a person’s aura than anything else, and a person of any gender can have the kind of aura I like,” she reasoned, sipping her butterbeer.

Harry blinked a few times. “Huh. That sorta makes sense, actually. Good for you, Luna.”

Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry, then turned to the batty witch. “Exactly what are you looking for in an aura, Luna?”

Luna thought for a moment. “Warmth, clarity—a fresh lemony yellow is the best kind, but I like fiery red ones too,” she smiled, glancing over at Ginny.

Draco couldn’t help but laugh as he elbowed Harry and whispered, “Better watch your back, Potter. Loony’s gunning for your girl.”

Harry laughed and leaned closer to Draco. “I think I can take her.” Draco felt a thrill at the raven-haired wizard’s closeness and practically gulped. _Give him the patented smirk, Draco,_ he reminded himself. _Don’t give yourself away, for Salazar’s sake._

Draco heard Fred addressing Ron: “Must be nice for you to have your girlfriend so close by—have you two done anything in Hermione’s office that would make me blush?” Fred’s grin seemed a bit too wide, almost forced.

To Draco’s surprise, Hermione and Ron looked uncomfortable, barely looking at each other and almost imperceptibly inching further apart as Hermione retorted, “Don’t be crass, Fred. We’ve both been much too busy with work.” _Interesting,_ Draco mused. _Either they’ve definitely been up to something in her office, or they definitely haven’t and feel like they should._ He eyed Fred—still clearly hung up on Hermione, still mysteriously reappeared from the dead. Draco was certain he’d get to the bottom of that mystery sooner or later.

Harry leaned toward Ron and asked in a low voice, “Do you think we can tell them what’s going on at work?” Draco raised his eyebrows and looked around—everyone else seemed just as confused as he was.

Ron shrugged. “It’s not top secret anymore—they’ve been discussing the most recent incidents with the _Prophet_.”

Harry nodded and addressed the entire group in a hushed voice. “We’ve been dealing with some strange deaths. The victims show no signs of distress, but their bodies are unnaturally cold, like ice, and they’re blue.”

Neville gasped. “Blue? What could cause that to happen?”

Ron shook his head. “We don’t know, mate. The healers are looking into it—they think it could be some kind of disease. The bodies are all quarantined in the St. Mungo’s morgue. But we haven’t ruled out foul play, either,” he noted grimly.

“It’s been happening a bit for the past two years,” Harry added, “but the incidence of cases has increased over this summer. Family members are Floo calling us constantly, and we’re doing the best we can—we just don’t have any leads.”

“Who are the victims?” Draco asked, concerned.

Harry seemed reluctant to answer, and Hermione and Ron both shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. “Muggle-borns and magical beings—the kind Hermione works with in her department.”

~*oOo*~

Hermione and Ron stepped through the Floo of Grimmauld Place, wiping ash off themselves and heading for the sofa as Ginny and Harry followed them, arms around each other and laughing. “Thanks for the lovely send-off at the Leaky,” Ginny said to Hermione and Ron, “but if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this one alone for one last hurrah before I’m shipped off to Hogwarts.” She dragged Harry toward the staircase, and he grinned caddishly at Ron and Hermione as he and Ginny disappeared upstairs.

Ron waved them off, but Hermione noticed he still slightly gritted his teeth at the thought of his little sister and his best friend doing was they were most certainly about to do. She could feel her head swimming from the firewhisky, and she felt she had to ask the question that had been plaguing her mind. “Do you think we should be like that? Like, can’t keep our hands off of each other?”

Ron looked at her quickly, his mouth open, then closed it as he thought for a moment. “I don’t know—maybe? That’s how it was for me and Lavender—” Hermione grimaced, “—sorry, Hermione, but it’s true. But I didn’t love her like I love you. Maybe it’s different?”

Hermione sighed—she felt the truth bubbling up inside her, and she fought to keep her eyes from brimming. “I think maybe it is. I think the kind of love we have for each other…” she paused to take a shaky breath, “might be the best friends kind. And maybe we aren’t meant to be together that way.” She bit her lip, examining his face, and saw the panic register in his eyes.

“Is there someone else?” he asked shakily.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Hermione quickly confirmed. “I just think this has been coming on slowly for a while.”

Ron still looked uncertain. “But you’ve been spending a lot of time with Fred.”

“And George,” Hermione added, “He and I are helping Fred readjust; you know how difficult it’s been. But it’s not like that with Fred,” she reassured him.

“But it could be,” Ron countered sourly. “When you kissed him before, did you feel what Harry and Ginny feel?”

Hermione opened her mouth, but couldn’t think what to say. Her brief hesitation was all the response Ron needed—he knew his answer.

“I think I’m going to sleep at the Burrow tonight,” Ron said, heading toward the Floo. “We need some space.”

“Ron!” Hermione suddenly cried, unable to stop the tears now. He turned to look at her. “I’m sorry. It’s just not right.”

Ron sighed. “I know. Just… give me some time.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Hermione whimpered.

Ron stepped towards her and wrapped her in a hug. “You won’t. I’m not making that mistake again, like last year,” he swore emphatically. “Friends. I promise.” He kissed her cheek and choked back a sob as he headed to the Floo. Hermione collapsed on the couch, finally allowing herself to cry.

~*oOo*~

**a river of blue fire. cold blue flames licking mottled gray air. a river of black water. still, silent, dead. purple shadows surrounding. what do they want what do they want. he looks down. a hole in his stomach. so cold. he tries to scream but makes no sound. just run run run run. the blue river. he leans over the edge. maybe if he can just touch, if he can feel…**

**he goes too far. he is falling, falling, falling…**

Fred sat bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily. He glanced around. _I’m in my room. It’s ok._ He could still hear the crackling flames, and his breath caught in his throat. He closed his eyes, focusing on breathing more evenly and on what he could feel with each of his senses. _Bowler hat on the mirror. Honking cars outside. Threadbare linen sheets—I really should upgrade._ He exhaled a steadying breath, then noticed his chattering teeth. _Too cold._ “George!” he called, rubbing his hands together and breathing on them.

George rushed into his room, took a moment to survey the state of his twin, and cast a warming charm. Fred felt a lovely rush of warmth, the feeling returning to his fingers and toes before ultimately settling into the familiar slightly numb cold that had become his new normal.

“Another nightmare?” George asked, sitting down on Fred’s bed. Fred nodded. “This is the fourth one this week,” George sighed. “You know what I think we should do.”

“No,” Fred shook his head emphatically. “She’s done enough for me already. The calming potions, and the muggle grounding exercises, and—she doesn’t need to know this,” he narrowed his eyes at his twin.

George merely looked at him. “She’d want to know. Hell, she’d comb through every book in the library to help. She’s our best chance to solve this,” he insisted.

Fred sighed. “She’ll kill me for keeping it from her this long. Just when I’d gotten used to being alive again,” he moaned. “Fine. We’ll tell her.”

George leaned over and patted Fred’s shoulder. “Cheer up, mate. Did you see how far she and Ron were sitting from each other tonight at drinks?”

Fred managed a small grin. “You know I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laying the groundwork, my friends--we're getting there :) hope you enjoyed the Drarry tension as well!


	13. It Takes Time

Hermione sighed, leaning her cheek against her hand as she stared at the pile of papers on her desk. She’d been researching past laws regarding house elves in the wizarding world, and most of the laws only incensed her. House elves were still considered property rather than sentient beings as recently as 1979, and they still weren’t entitled to any property or wealth of their own, according to the law! They certainly didn’t teach that at Hogwarts. Hermione buoyed herself with the thought that the laws she was working to enact would change all that. Still, it had been difficult to stay focused since her breakup with Ron two weeks earlier. It was getting easier, but still.

A knock on her door shook her from her reverie. “Come in!” she called, absentmindedly clearing a small space in the center of her desk.

Her boss, Edwardus Lima, popped his head in her office. With his tiny round spectacles, thick mustache, and rotund frame, he had the look of an avuncular walrus. Just the sight of him made Hermione smile. “My oh my, Hermione!” he laughed jovially. “Hard at work, I see.” He frowned suddenly, “What’s that?” Hermione looked down quickly as he continued, “You can almost see a bit of desk under all those papers!” he chortled, and Hermione smiled and shook her head—Edwardus was always good for dad jokes. “I won’t keep you—I have two orders of business. First—how are the house elf laws coming along?”

“Well, I’ve got a list of requests from the house elf community, courtesy of Winky,” Hermione began. “They don’t want Wizengamot representation and would like to maintain their station in society, for the most part, but they’d like civil rights protections from being abused by their masters. I’ve tried to explain to them that they may need to accept things like money and clothes to minimize the power differential between themselves and their families, but Winky said they wouldn’t hear of it.”

“I’m not surprised,” Edwardus mused, smoothing his moustache, “and neither should you be, Hermione. House elves have their own sense of pride and culture, and we must respect their wishes.”

“Yes sir,” Hermione said, a bit begrudgingly. “I’ve been researching past house elf laws, and they’re mostly restrictive, reductive, or downright abusive toward the elves. There was a law proposed two years ago for their protection, let me see… yes, “Kadie’s Law!” It aimed to give house elves the power to leave the employ of an abusive family without being given clothes.” She looked up at Edwardus. “Was this written by someone in your former department?”

Edwardus took the parchment from her and chuckled. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen that scratchy handwriting. Yes, this was written by my former colleague, Pollux Diemburg, in the Magical Creatures department. Pollux had a fondness for house elves—apparently was very close to the one his family had growing up. Though his professional experience was with dragons—he came to us after having worked in the field for years at a dragon reserve in China. Really lit a fire under him,” Edwardus chuckled as he pulled up a chair in front of Hermione’s desk (her office was barely big enough to fit her desk and two chairs) and leaned back, reminiscing. “Pollux was incredibly kind and affable—he had these twinkly green eyes that made him look like he was always laughing. Which is good, because I’m always joking,” he grinned. “And he certainly had a daring fashion sense—those brightly colored robes! He had a red and green ensemble that would cause traffic accidents.”

Hermione laughed. “He sounds wonderful.”

Edwardus nodded, his laughter leaving his face. “He was. He went missing around September of last year. With all that was happening at that time—people were going missing left and right. They assumed it was Death Eaters—he was never found.”

“Oh, Mr. Lima, I’m so sorry.” Hermione leaned forward and patted his hand.

Edwardus smiled and looked up at her. “Hermione, I’m your colleague, not your teacher—call me Edwardus. ‘Mr. Lima’ is what the wife calls me when I’m about to be in the doghouse.” He chuckled. “I tried to get the Wizengamot to consider these laws—they’re important work, of course, but I must admit I was mostly motivated by a desire to honor Pollux’s memory. He was so passionate about these laws. But I couldn’t get the Wizengamot on my side—there was a vociferous faction that opposed them outright, seemingly led by that horrible toad Um—”

As if she’d been summoned, Hermione heard the familiar “hem hem!” of Dolores Umbridge in her doorway. She looked up, feeling a distinct headache coming on, and Edwardus instantly coughed and spluttered upon seeing her. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he remarked under his breath.

“Ms. Umbridge—how can I help you?” Hermione asked with as much civility as she could muster.

“Ms. Granger,” Umbridge simpered with a sickly sweet smile on her face, “I’ve been sent to inquire about a travel permit you requested. It seems all is not in order,” she tutted and shook her head.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Umbridge had retained a position at the Ministry following the war, but certainly not the powerful one she had. Though she’d been acquitted of all charges of Death Eater sympathy and conspiracy by pleading the Imperius Curse defense, Kingsley still didn’t trust her, and so he’d demoted her to a desk job in the Department of Magical Transportation, essentially filing permits for portkeys all day. She was still on the Wizengamot though, so Hermione had to play nice. “I don’t see how that can be—I put in the request two weeks ago for a Portkey to Scotland to meet with a werewolf pack.”

“Ah yes, but you noted you will be traveling with a companion, one Bill Weasley?”

“Yes, that’s right—he’s part werewolf, and he agreed to travel with me to smooth the negotiation process.”

“Well, then,” Umbridge’s icy blue eyes sparkled, “I’m sorry to inform you that you’ve filled out the wrong form—this is for solo Portkey travel. You’ll need an entirely different one to bring a companion.”

Hermione sighed—typical. “I see. Well, I’d be happy to fill out the correct form, if you can just—”

“Oh! Silly me,” Umbridge giggled, “I seem to have forgotten it. I suppose you’ll have to head up to the sixth floor and get it—I’m needed in the Wizengamot. So many new bills to consider—but then, not all of them make it to become laws, do they?” She blinked her eyes innocently at Edwardus, fiddling with one of the cat necklaces around her neck. Hermione found it physically impossible not to roll her eyes. Hermione loved cats too, but what kind of grown woman wore two identical cat necklaces?

Umbridge turned to leave, her simpering smile still on her face. “Oh—out of interest,” she said, turning in the doorway, “Are you close with the rest of the Weasleys? I’d heard something about a lover from the war.” Umbridge smiled in a way that looked more like she was baring her teeth. Edwardus, who’d mostly been watching the verbal sparring like a tennis match, blustered as if to defend Hermione, but she cut him off.

“That would be Bill’s brother, Ron. We’re just friends,” Hermione replied through gritted teeth.

“Hmm. What about that other Weasley, the one who supposedly died in the war? Curious incident—how exactly did he survive?” Umbridge’s smile was so wide, it threatened to crack the edges of her face.

“He was in a deep coma as a result of the fighting at the Battle of Hogwarts called Somnus Mortus. His brother George had a hunch he was alive, and had him taken to St. Mungo’s. They were able to revive him two weeks later.” Hermione delivered this speech while maintaining eye contact with Umbridge. She’d gotten better at this.

Umbridge smirked and blinked innocently at Hermione. “Yes—such a boon to the Weasley family, after so much suffering, to have this beloved twin return—seemingly from the dead.” Hermione drew in a steadying breath—there was no way Umbridge could know that truth, but why would she phrase it that way?

Edwardus cleared his throat and stood. “Dolores, I think it’s time you and I leave Hermione to her research—time waits for no man, but work waits for admin,” he joked as he ushered her from the room, and Hermione rolled her eyes, cracking a small smile. Umbridge turned to give Hermione one final creeping smile before exiting.

“Oh wait—Edwardus,” Hermione said as he paused in the doorway, “wasn’t there one more item you wanted to discuss with me?”

“Oh! I’d forgotten,” Edwardus chuckled and pulled a tomato from his pocket with a strange horizontal slice in one side. He placed it on Hermione’s desk, and the tomato opened at the slice to say, “Is that your hair or a bird’s nest?” Hermione looked up at Edwardus, who snorted as he picked it back up. “Just thought you’d get a kick out of that—Rotten Tomatoes! Those Weasley twins are something else.” He shook his head, still laughing to himself as he left the room.

Hermione smiled— _they certainly are,_ she thought. Between the Umbridge encounter and her recent breakup, she’d needed a little levity today. How was it the twins always knew when you needed to laugh, even if they weren’t physically there to make it happen? She looked up as a paper airplane memo whizzed through her open doorway and landed on her desk. She opened it and recognized the untidy scrawl of Harry Potter.

_Ice cream after work?_

~*oOo*~

“She’s still as awful as she ever was, Harry—she doesn’t have as much power anymore, but it’s certainly not stopping her from abusing what little she has,” groused Hermione as she and Harry sat with their ice cream at Ragnok’s, formerly Fortescue’s. “I’m certain I filled out the correct form—she must have bewitched it.”

“Hmm—well, don’t let it get to you, Hermione,” Harry said between mouthfuls of chicken rhubarb-flavored ice cream. “Like you said, she doesn’t have much power anymore. You’re higher up in the Ministry than she is.”

Hermione frowned. “She’s still on the Wizengamot though, and she still has some pull there. I’m worried what she’ll do about my house elf laws.” She brightened as she remembered, “Have I told you what I’m going to call them?” Harry shook his head. “Dobby’s Laws.”

Harry beamed at her, unable to speak for a moment. “He’d be really proud of you, Hermione.”

Just then, Ragnok, the goblin who owned the ice cream shop, came to their table. “How are you enjoying the flavors?” he asked. “I always appreciate a wizard who is adventurous enough to sample the goblin menu,” he said as he looked expectantly at Harry.

“Excellent, as usual,” Harry returned jovially. “Someday I’ll get adventurous enough to try the tripe and onion flavor.”

Ragnok chuckled. “And you, miss?” He turned to Hermione, though he seemed far less interested in her opinion. She had stuck to her tried-and-true favorite, the ginger pumpkin, as most of the other flavors were a little too adventurous for her.

“Mmm! It’s my favorite, Ragnok,” Hermione said enthustically, trying to gain the goblin’s favor. “Thank you.”

Ragnok gave a small bow, then turned to Harry once more. “Mr. Potter, will you be returning to Hogwarts soon, to see your Miss Weasley?”

“I will, as a matter of fact, in a couple of weeks,” Harry informed him. “Would you like me to say hello to Professor Flitwick for you?”

“I’d be much obliged,” the goblin bowed again, and left to see to another table. Hermione was quite fond of Ragnok, despite his indifference to her. He’d bought the ice cream shop shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts after leaving Gringotts—he found he didn’t like working for the bank, nor did he want to go into metalworking, the other traditional goblin occupation. His fusion of goblin and wizard flavors in ice creams had been part of the recent revitalization of Diagon Alley. And as it turned out, Professor Flitwick, who was half-goblin on his mother’s side, was Ragnok’s half-brother. The two seemed bonded over their unconventional career choices, and Ragnok often asked Harry when he would next return to Hogwarts.

Harry turned back to Hermione. “So, how are you feeling about the breakup?”

Hermione sighed. “I’m fine. I think it’s for the best, in the long run. We’re better off as friends.” Harry nodded and looked down at his ice cream. “I miss having him around, though,” she admitted. “Maybe, when more time is passed, he could move back in? If he wants to, I mean.”

“Of course he will,” Harry assured her. “He just needs time.”

Hermione eyed him tentatively. “Have you spoken to him much?”

Harry nodded. “Well, obviously I see him all the time at auror training. But yeah, we’ve talked a bit about the breakup. He’s ok—told me he’s starting to feel better about it, thinks it was probably the right thing to do. A bit like you,” he smiled at her.

Hermione brightened a bit at this news. “Good—I’m sure we’ll be able to be back to normal. Friends again. Just takes time,” she assured herself, taking another bite of her ice cream.

“Speaking of things taking time,” Harry raised an eyebrow, “how’s Fred’s recovery?”

Hermione sighed. “Slow going. We can’t figure out why he’s having these strange side effects—the cold and the dreams. We’ve read the _Arcanum_ backwards and forwards, as well as every text McGonagall sent me from the Hogwarts library.” She frowned. “I’ve been teaching him these grounding exercises I learned, and they seem to help.”

Harry leaned toward her. “Uh huh—do you think it’s really the exercises that are helping?” Hermione furrowed her brow, confused, and Harry continued. “Fred seems to like having you around, don’t you think?”

“Well,” Hermione scoffed, “I really don’t think that could be the solution.”

“It’s true, though,” Harry grinned. “Listen, I know you’re not going to like this suggestion—”

“Why even make a suggestion I won’t like?” Hermione chided.

“—But,” Harry went on, “I think we should ask Draco for help.”

“What?!” Hermione nearly shouted, incredulous. “I know he’s not the evil snake we once thought he was, but still…” she leaned closer to whisper, “it doesn’t seem wise to tell him the truth about Fred.”

“What choice do we have?” Harry countered. “Every solution we’ve tried is merely a bandage, and the Manor must have loads of books on old obscure magic we could consult. Maybe even some more information on this elusive family magic stuff,” he argued, knowing Hermione couldn’t resist the allure of research.

Hermione sighed. “Well, I won’t agree to it unless Fred and George think it’s a good idea.” She crossed her arms, and Harry stared at her, taking another bite of his ice cream. “Fine—I’ll mention it to them. But no promises.”

~*oOo*~

“Okay, deep breath,” Hermione said as Fred sat at the edge of his bed, eyes closed. “Focus on your breathing—deep and slow.”

Fred took a deep breath and attempted to clear his head of the image the phrase “deep and slow” had conjured up for him. This was his brother’s ex-girlfriend—recent ex, to be specific. Off limits.

“Now listen—focus on the sounds around you,” Hermione continued in a calming voice. Fred listened— _what do I hear?_ Ticking pocket watch. Conversations on the street drifting through the open window. “Now slowly open your eyes, hazy focus,” Hermione guided him. _What do I see?_ Quidditch poster. Bowler hat. Hermione’s hair in the mirror. “Notice what you smell, what you taste,” Hermione spoke, and her hair bounced slightly. _What do I smell?_ Nothing.

“Nothing!” Fred cried suddenly, clenching his hands into fists and punching the bed. The room was blurry and he was beginning to feel like he couldn’t breathe, like a hole in his stomach, like falling falling falling into blue flames like—

“Whoa,” Hermione said, moving to sit beside him on the bed. “Just breathe. You’re ok. You’re here, in your room. See?” She grabbed his hand and interlaced their fingers. “You’re right here.”

Fred forced himself to look at her chocolate eyes, so full of concern, as he was able to gradually slow his breathing. _What do I feel? Loaded question,_ he thought wryly. Her hand was warm.

Hermione watched him regain his breath, then questioned, “What was the trigger that time?”

Fred sighed. “I can’t smell or taste anything. Not since…” he trailed off. “It’s sort of there, but it’s like echoes of what I know things smell and taste like. Like I know…” he leaned closer, testing the waters, “what your perfume smells like, and it feels like I can almost smell it.” He stopped, looking her directly in the eyes as she breathed in sharply, “But I can’t.”

Hermione breathed, “You’ve never told me that—I never would have asked if I knew—”

Fred waved off her apology. “I thought it would come back, and I wouldn’t have to say. Or that I could just gut it out. Seems not,” he shrugged. “Hey don’t feel bad, Hermione—all this stuff is really helping me, you know. Where did you learn all this?” _Her hand is still in mine,_ he realized.

Hermione hesitated. “The summer after fifth year, I started getting panic attacks,” she confided. “My parents didn’t know what was going on; I certainly couldn’t tell them about what happened at the Ministry that year, or they’d never let me out of the house again!” She laughed and squeezed his hand.

Hermione rarely mentioned her parents anymore. She’d tried to restore their memories, but nothing had worked. Fred knew she still took a Portkey to Australia every now and again to check on them. He squeezed her hand back as she continued, “I went to see a therapist—like a mind healer for muggles—she was sweet, but obviously I couldn’t tell her what was really going on, either, so she couldn’t help much. But she did give me these grounding exercises. I’ve found they really help me to stay in the moment, and not get so stressed about little things, like spots on my nose or deadlines at work.”

“And big things like snaky dark lords and bad breakups?” Fred quipped as he squeezed her hand.

Hermione snorted as she smiled— _got a laugh,_ Fred grinned to himself. “I’m feeling ok about it, really. It’ll just take time, for Ron and me both. But we both agree it was the right decision,” she said as she let go of his hand and returned to her chair. _Damn it—too soon,_ Fred admonished himself.

Hermione looked at him searchingly. “Did you have the nightmare again last night?”

Fred groaned. “Every night this week.”

Hermione shook her head, exasperated. “Damn! There must be something we’re missing!” She stood and walked to the window, looking out. “I’m certain the reference to sealing your bond must be to do with your twin bond with George—why wouldn’t the book tell us how to do that!” She chewed her lip, thinking. “Listen, Harry had this idea—I’m not sure it’s prudent, but I’ve exhausted all my resources. Harry said Draco might have some volumes at Malfoy Manor that could help, if we tell him what’s been going on.” She looked up at him reluctantly. “What do you think? Could we trust him?”

Fred considered this a moment, then shrugged. “Huh. Hadn’t thought of asking the ferret, but he seems a decent enough bloke these days. What could it hurt?” Hermione’s mouth fell open in shock, which made Fred chuckle. “What? He’s not exactly popular among wizards these days, so he probably wouldn’t have anyone to tell the true story to, even if he wanted to.” He leaned back on the bed, arms behind his head. “Sounds like we’re headed into the snake den.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends! I'm loving your responses, keep them coming :) Big stuff is coming soon, but I have a couple of chapters of setting up before we get there. Everybody's getting through the stuff they need to get through to get to the big events--stick with me, it won't be too much longer!


	14. Malfoy Manor

Hermione, Harry, Fred, and George sat in the twins’ living room, awaiting Draco’s arrival. They’d only told Draco the bare minimum—enough to pique his interest and assure him that a visit to Malfoy Manor was warranted. All he knew was that there was something he hadn’t been told about Fred, and that they needed the books at the Manor to help him. Predictably, the intrigue had been enough to entice Malfoy to inform his mother to expect them at the Manor.

The Floo roared, and Hermione sat bolt upright as Draco entered, dusting the Floo powder from his hands. “Potter, Granger, Weasleys,” he greeted them. “Fine day for revealing secrets, isn’t it?” He smirked victoriously as he looked around at the reluctant crowd.

Hermione leaned in toward Harry, who sat next to her on the couch. “Harry—are you sure we can trust him?” she whispered.

But George and Fred welcomed Malfoy before she got her answer. “Hullo Malfoy!” they chorused.

“Drink?” asked George.

“We’ve got tea,” added Fred.

“Irish it up if you like.”

“Or coffee if you’d rather.”

“Nothing, thank you,” drawled Malfoy. “I’d rather like to know what this is all about.”

“Right,” Fred began, clapping his hands together. “As you’ve been snidely remarking for months, dear Draco, I am not the survivor of a nasty Somnus Mortus coma. I am, in fact, the undead,” he joked in a spooky voice.

“Fred really did die in the Battle of Hogwarts,” George continued while Draco narrowed his eyes, “but we were able to resurrect him.”

“How? Who’s ‘we’?” Draco interrogated, practically on the edge of his seat.

“George and I,” Hermione jumped in. “George and Fred performed a spell last year to house a piece of their souls in an object.” As Draco gasped, Hermione quickly added, “Not a horcrux, of course! It’s twin magic, part of their Prewett family magic.” Hermione held up the _Arcanum Gemini Magicae,_ and Draco’s eyes went wide.

Draco’s gaze darted from Fred to George to Hermione. “You’d share your Prewett family magic with a Malfoy?”

Fred shrugged. “What good is it to you? You’re not a twin.”

“And we’re desperate,” Hermione added, glancing at Fred. “Fred’s had some unexpected lingering effects from his time beyond the veil.”

“I expect he would,” Draco returned thoughtfully. “The Dark Lord certainly did.”

Hermione ground her teeth. _How dare he make that comparison?_ But before she could upbraid him, Harry quickly cut her off. “Exactly,” he said, giving Hermione a warning look. “That’s why we came to you—the Malfoy Manor library might have resources on the realm beyond the veil that we haven’t yet found, and with your experience—”

“You thought I might help,” sighed Draco, looking at them all. “And I presume you also expect my discretion?”

Hermione nodded fervently. “No one can know Fred’s been raised from the dead—it would rouse too many suspicions about the magic responsible, and questions about their family magic. As a fellow pureblood, you wouldn’t want that, would you?” she asked archly.

Draco surveyed them all, smirking. “Well I must say, this isn’t what I expected.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “What did you expect?”

“I assumed you’d lied about dropping the Resurrection Stone in the Forbidden Forest,” Draco replied, raising an eyebrow at Harry, who spluttered indignantly. “Right,” said Draco, standing and grabbing a handful of Floo powder, “shall we?”

~*oOo*~

As Draco stepped through the Floo in the grand hall of Malfoy Manor, he smiled a smug, satisfied smile. _I knew it. I knew something was going on with Fred._ He watched as the rest of the group filed in one by one through the Floo, and heard a small house elf clear her throat behind him.

“If the young misses and masters would please dust off with the brush before leaving the Floo—Mistress likes to keep the hall clean,” the old elf informed them, particularly eyeing Draco. She’d been on his case about that as a child, though he hadn’t tracked Floo powder into the hall since he was about five years old. _She never seems to remember that,_ Draco grumbled.

“Dottie, may I present Hermione Granger, Fred and George Weasley, and Harry Potter. You may have seen some of them before, under less hospitable circumstances,” Draco confided to her under his breath.

Dottie’s eyes widened, but if she recognized Harry and Hermione from the incident at the manor last year, she didn’t remark on it. “Welcome to Malfoy Manor. I shall fetch the Mistress at once.” She turned and left.

Draco saw Hermione eye the elf carefully. “Now that my father is no longer head of the household, we treat the elves rather differently around here,” he informed her. “What happened with Dobby—it has not and will not be repeated.”

Hermione gave him a wary smile as Narcissa Malfoy entered the hall. The events of the past year had been particularly hard on Draco’s mother, but she still looked as elegant and commanding as ever. Though their guests weren’t aware, Draco could tell his mother was nervous to welcome them to the Manor, particularly Harry and Hermione, because of what had happened the previous year. She, like Dottie, would probably never mention it, though. Draco realized he probably wouldn’t either.

“Welcome to all of you. We’re delighted to have you here,” Narcissa said grandly, standing next to Draco. “Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, and—forgive me, I’m not sure we’ve met…”

“Mother, this is Fred and George Weasley,” Draco remarked.

“I’m George, the one with the missing ear,” George offered helpfully.

“And I’m Fred, I’ve got blue eyes. And both ears,” Fred added.

“Well,” Narcissa replied, not sure how to take these comments, “that is quite helpful, thank you gentlemen. Draco’s been most reticent about what brings you to the Manor today, but I gather you’re undertaking some sort of project?” She raised her eyebrows at Harry and Hermione.

“Yes,” Harry returned. “Auror business. Classified, I’m afraid.” Draco smirked, impressed. _Quick, concise, and polite—well done, Potter._

“Mother, I think we’ll head straight to the library, if that’s alright with you,” Draco drawled, starting off toward the door to the east wing.

“Oh, by all means,” Narcissa gestured for the rest of them to follow. “Just call Dottie when you’re done, and you can join me for tea then, if you’d like.”

Draco looked questioningly at the others, who glanced round at each other before Hermione told Narcissa, “That sounds lovely, thank you.” Narcissa watched them leave, positively beaming.

As they walked the halls of the east wing, Draco muttered to Hermione, “Thank you. Ever since my father’s incarceration and my spy turn became public knowledge, she’s been somewhat lacking in social circles.” Hermione seemed to take offense to this, ready to jump down his throat again for insinuating their social class was lower than his mother’s, and Draco quickly added, “I mean that sincerely—she’s lost a lot of friends. It means the world to her that you’ll stay for tea. Truly.” Hermione’s eyes narrowed, but she seemed to accept this explanation with a small “hmmph.”

As they arrived at the library, Hermione handed the _Arcanum Gemini Magicae_ to Draco, opened it to a particular page, and pointed. “So. This is the spell George and I used to resurrect Fred.” Draco scanned the ingredients list and ritual—some unusual methods, but it certainly seemed to have done the job. Hermione continued, “We think the reason Fred is still suffering lingering effects from beyond the veil is explained in this passage here,” she pointed at a paragraph toward the bottom of the page, “but it’s extremely vague, and we need answers.”

Draco looked at the passage and read aloud, “ _Be ye warned that the spell alone will not seal the lost soul’s return. While the bond remains unsealed, the soul will be forever between the realm of the living and the land beyond the veil._ Cheery,” he remarked, looking up at them. “Sounds like bond magic to me—there should be some volumes on that shelf,” he gestured lazily, continuing to peruse the _Arcanum_ as the others rushed to the shelf he’d indicated. “I presume you’ve read this book thoroughly, and there’s no other indication of what it could mean?”

“Cover to cover,” Hermione replied, retrieving a dusty volume from the shelf. “Draco—I don’t suppose you could tell us more about family magic? I know it’s personal, and guarded, and all that—”

“Why not?” Draco drawled as he flipped a page. “I’ve barely a family left to protect, and I doubt I’ll be passing on the Malfoy name and magic.”

Harry frowned. “Why wouldn’t y—”

“Family magics are ancient pureblood secret magics, passed down through families,” Draco continued, eager to ignore his slip. “In the past, pureblood families would arrange marriages based on strengthening their magical abilities, and so these magics became associated with the families. It was part of the justification for keeping the bloodlines pure.” Draco noted the grimaces from his companions as he added, “Though it was hardly worth the inbreeding.”

Harry snorted as Draco went on, “Each family passes down its secrets, whether through books or simply by teaching their children throughout the generations. Other families, if they were to gain access to these secrets, could potentially learn another family’s magic, but it’s more than just the spells. A particular ability has been bred into each family that supports their magic—if others were to try to perform Malfoy family magic, they might succeed, but not as much as a true Malfoy would.”

“What is the Malfoy family magic?” Harry asked, taking a seat next to Draco. “I mean—if you’re not too proud a pureblood to tell us.”

Draco smirked. “The Malfoy family magic,” he paused for dramatic effect as the others leaned forward almost imperceptibly, “is influence magic. Not only do we have spells and potions to help us bend others’ wills to ours, we’re simply more adept at this type of magic than other wizards.”

Hermione frowned. “That sounds like the Imperius curse.”

Draco sneered, “One might think so, but it’s neither so simple nor so crass as that. It’s much subtler.” He leaned in toward Harry, wondering how close he could get without drawing attention. “Like a whispered suggestion in someone’s ear,” he spoke softly. To Draco’s surprise, Harry reddened slightly before tearing his eyes from Draco and looking very intently at the book in his hands. Draco allowed himself a small, triumphant smile before continuing, “It’s quite useful magic, really. It’s part of why the Malfoys are such gifted politicians.”

“Until one of you follows the wrong leader,” George quipped, earning him an elbow in the ribs from Harry.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Indeed. A poor patriarch in many ways, my father.” He still felt a guilty thrill each time he denounced his father, as if he were besmirching the Malfoy name. _If anything, I’m saving it_ , he thought rebelliously. He changed the subject, “Twins run in the Prewett family, do they not?”

Fred nodded. “Our uncles Fabian and Gideon were twins.”

“And our great-great uncles Forster and Geoffrey were as well,” George added.

“I’m sure there are more, further back.” Fred looked at George, who nodded.

Draco looked between them. “Remarkable. I can see what this means about…” he looked down to find the passage he’d just read, “’ _The brothers share a piece of each other, body, mind, and soul.’_ Bloody finish each other’s sentences, even.”

“And that’s a kind of bond, right?” Hermione questioned, eager to find answers.

“It would certainly seem so,” Draco replied. “Based on what I’m seeing of this spell, it would seem that casting it has bonded Fred to each of the people who sacrificed something for him, or at least intensified the existing bonds. George had his piece of Fred’s soul, and one of you stole dear Mrs. Weasley’s blood—”

“It was only a little nick—she’s fine!” George said hotly.

“—and our dear Hermione gave her body.” Draco eyed her up and down thoughtfully. “Which part, pray tell?”

Hermione scowled at Draco. “My hair.”

Draco blinked for a moment, then burst into laughter. “I’m surprised the potion didn’t explode.”

As the others laughed, Hermione looked about to explode herself, and Draco wondered if he hadn’t gone too far—it wasn’t so long ago that he was her nasty, blood supremacist tormentor at Hogwarts. To his great relief, she cracked a small smile and muttered, “You’re one to talk, with that white boy Hitler Youth hair.”

Harry laughed amiably as Draco frowned in confusion. “What’s a hitler?”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, and Hermione shook her head. “Never mind, Draco—it’s a muggle thing.”

~*oOo*~

Hermione rested her cheek on her hand as she perused a book called _Deepest Secrets of Bond Magics_. She’d been through the only volume on Malfoy family magic Draco had allowed her to see—and not before glamouring a few pages he clearly thought would be too much information for the clever witch—and skimmed through most of the other books on bond magic, resurrection, and soul magic in the Malfoy Manor library. The others weren’t as quick as her, handling one or two books each in the two hours they’d been there, and Draco had simply continued perusing the _Arcanum,_ absorbed with the Prewett family magic secrets. At the moment, he, Harry, and Fred were discussing the latest cases of Blue Death that Harry had seen come through the auror department while Hermione and George continued to research. _No wonder they can only read one book an hour,_ Hermione thought with an eye roll. _Amateurs._

Hermione sighed. Most of what she’d read about bonds, she already knew. Bonds were ties between wizards who shared some type of magically-determined relationship—the origin of such bonds was unknown, though mystics had their theories. One piece of information was new to her: you could observe bonds if you used transcendental or trance magic. From what Hermione had read, they looked like incandescent strings linking people together. There were several types of bonds between beings—the most well-known, and rarest, being the soulmate bond. This occurred when two people’s souls were bonded to the point where each soul did not function well on its own, and needed the other person. Most twins had a soulmate bond, according to the tome Hermione was reading, as well as some other close siblings and parent-child relationships, though they were rarer in those cases. Rarer still were people not related to each other sharing a soul in this way.

Unfortunately, Hermione couldn’t see how to use this information; she’d seen nothing about how to seal a bond, or even what that meant. She sighed and flipped to the next page. The next type of bond was the familial bond—not as strong as the soulmate one, but still enough to tie the linked pair’s well-being to each other. They would not suffer from being apart, but were strengthened by being together, typically. Next, with the same level of attachment, was the lovers bond. Lovers could be platonic, according to the book—it was about the deep relationship. These were similar to the familial bond, where distance did not harm the bond, but closeness strengthened it. Shared suffering seemed a common theme among these pairs, as the book pointed out, “Harming your partner is harming yourself.” Interesting—but sadly, not particularly useful in Fred’s case.

Hermione came across a type of bond she’d never seen before, and looked up. “Draco?” The blond wizard looked in her direction. “Are you familiar with life debts?”

Draco cocked an eyebrow. “Somewhat. The gist, I believe, is that when a wizard saves another wizard’s life, they are owed a life debt—a kind of favor to be called in whenever they like. Apparently it’s quite painful to resist completing the favor.”

“Hmmm.” Hermione looked back down at the book. “This says these operate on the principle of Medea’s Law of Balance—everyone owing must pay the owed. Correct?”

“It would seem so,” Draco returned, seeming eager to return to his conversation with Harry and Fred.

Harry frowned. “Wait—does that mean I owe you a life debt? For not turning me in at Malf— well, here?”

Draco’s eyes widened—pureblood families probably didn’t talk about unpleasant things like imprisoning their friends and almost killing them, Hermione reasoned. Draco blinked and responded, “You saved my life too—in the Room of Requirement, with the Fiendfyre. We’re even, Potter.”

“You know, I’ve been wondering about that,” Hermione remarked, closing her book while leaving her finger in the page she’d been reading. “If you were a spy for the Order by then, why were you trying to kill us?”

Draco snorted. “If you believed that, then I played my role well. I was instructed to keep the Dark Lord from accessing the Room of Requirement, because there was some object of importance potentially hidden there. Had no idea it was a horcrux,” he rolled his eyes. “Snape and Dumbledore’s portrait weren’t exactly forthcoming with the details. That day, Crabbe and Goyle followed me, and I told them I was there on Death Eater business, protecting the Room of Requirement from you lot.” He gestured to them all with a flick of his hand. “If you’ll recall, I did tell Crabbe not to kill you. Quite big of me, I should think.”

“You told him not to kill Harry,” Hermione corrected. “You didn’t seem to care one bit if he killed me.”

Draco met her eyes. “Acting. Olivier-worthy. I promise.” He drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him from trying to _Avada_ you. And from casting that blasted Fiendfyre,” he added bitterly.

~*oOo*~

“Protego!” Draco shouted as the Fiendfyre came rushing toward him in the form of a dragon, jaws snapping against his shield charm. The charm was strong, but it wouldn’t hold for long—if only he could remember the countercharm for Fiendfyre! Or could think of some way to control it, maybe _Coercio,_ or even _Repellio._ It occurred to him that he might die here, on a shaky pile of charred desks, with Goyle unconscious by his side. The heat was nearly unbearable, and Draco struggled to remember what he was even fighting for. _Focus. “Repellio!”_ he shouted, to no avail.

“Malfoy!” Draco looked up just in time to see Potter swooping toward him on a broomstick, holding a hand outstretched to him. Too stunned to wonder how or why this had happened, he reached for his mortal enemy/secret ally and grabbed his hand. Despite how tightly he held on, his hand was too sweaty from the heat, and he slipped from Potter’s grasp.

Draco heard Weasley bellowing, ““IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I’LL KILL YOU, HARRY!” and was vaguely aware of Weasley and Granger scooping Goyle onto their broom. He was focused on Potter, who was zooming back toward him and lingered just long and low enough for Draco to climb on the broom behind Potter. He wrapped his arms around Potter’s waist, not caring that he’d hated the boy almost the entire time he’d known him, or that they’d both nearly killed each other half a dozen times by now. _Harry Potter might save my life_ , he thought with a wry smirk. _Thank Merlin for that overactive hero complex of his._

To Draco’s surprise, Potter swerved away from the exit and toward a pile of junk being engulfed by flames. “What are you doing, what are you doing, the door’s that way!” Draco hissed in his ear. Potter ignored him as he dove toward a small sparkly object, catching it in his outstretched hand. _A tiara?_ Draco puzzled over the object for only a moment before a chimaera of flames began chasing them. Draco screamed, not caring for a moment how hysterical he was being as he clung tightly to Potter.

They made it through the door and slammed into the wall beyond it as Draco fell from the broom, landing facedown on the mercifully cold stone floor. He coughed and wheezed, gasping for air, and looked toward Goyle, still unconscious and lying beside Weasley and Granger. He suddenly realized—“C-Crabbe… C-Crabbe…”

“He’s dead.” Weasley spat.

Draco glared at the odious redhead. How he hated that he owed his life to these three, whose contempt for him was so palpable. If they only knew what he’d done for them… they’d probably still be ungrateful, Draco thought bitterly. And now he’d lost one of his earliest friends; a boy he’d played with as a child before he even came to Hogwarts, loyal to the end. He could feel tears beginning to sting his eyes, and hid his face.

Sounds of the battle were echoing from the floors below, and Draco could hear shouts and curses coming near them. “Hello Minister! Did I mention I’m resigning?” A clipped, nasally voice caused Draco to look up and see two Weasleys—Percy and one of the twins, it seemed—engaged in a skirmish with the puppet Minister Pius Thicknesse and another Death Eater he couldn’t see clearly.

“You’re joking, Perce!” The twin exclaimed as they dispatched the Death Eaters with stunning spells. “You actually _are_ joking, Perce…I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were—”

Draco jumped back and instinctively covered his head with his arms as an explosion rattled the area where the others were fighting. He coughed again as dust filled the air. When he slowly realized he hadn’t been hit, he removed his arms and looked up. Harry and Hermione had been blown away from the Weasleys, who were gathering themselves and slowly standing up… except for one.

_Fred’s eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face._

~*oOo*~

Harry elbowed him, and Draco was shaken from his dark reverie. “Sorry about Crabbe,” Harry muttered. “Even if he was a tosser.”

Draco smirked. “Sorry about Fred. All told, I’m glad he didn’t stay dead.”

Hermione slammed her book shut, causing everyone to jump. “The problem is the balance!” she exclaimed with feverish excitement, running a hand through her wild hair in a fruitless attempt to tame it. “Bringing Fred back, the way that we did—it upset the balance of our bonds, because now he owes us a life debt. If we can balance it, perhaps we can seal our bonds!” Her eyes were wide as she looked between George and Fred.

George shook his head. “But we didn’t just save his life—we brought him back from the dead. How’s he going to balance that?”

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it and thought before answering. “I’m not sure. But it seems if we want Fred back, same as he was,” she locked eyes with Fred, whose icy blue gaze was piercing through her, “the debt must somehow be repaid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any good Hermione story has to have a research chapter 😂 I hope you all are staying safe and having a lovely holiday season, wherever you are! Thanks so much for reading this story 😊


	15. Tea?

Draco leaned forward, impressed with Hermione’s theory. “Resurrecting someone from the dead would certainly upset the balance, according to Medea’s Law. And correcting that imbalance might ‘seal the bond,’ as the _Arcanum_ says.”

“But how do we do it?” Hermione frowned. “How do we stabilize an imbalance like this?”

“Somehow I don’t think baking you a cake would do it,” Fred mused lightly.

“Right,” Harry thought, furrowing his brow in a way that made his lightning bolt scar crinkle. “It must be something big, something…” He glanced reluctantly at Hermione.

“It would seem that an eye for an eye is in order, to truly balance the scales,” Draco drawled. If Harry wouldn’t say it, he would.

Hermione shook her head firmly. “I’m certain it doesn’t need to be as drastic as all that. Fred doesn’t need to save George and I from the dead to strengthen our bonds. We’ll think of something else.”

“It doesn’t say you need to ‘strengthen’ your bonds,” Draco replied impatiently. “It says to ‘seal’ them. If imbalance is the issue, then the only way to correct this is for Fred to save your lives.” He leaned back in his chair as the rest of the group glared at him. “Don’t _Avada_ the messenger, for Merlin’s sake!”

Hermione flipped furiously through her bond magic book. “Perhaps there’s something else in here about balancing life debts—it may be as simple as completing a favor for George and I, something we request.”

“Or maybe we can simulate a life-threatening situation,” Harry suggested. “Make the magic think your life is in danger, so that Fred can save you. We do these simulations in auror training—it could work,” he finished feebly.

Fred, who had been quietly taking in all of this information, suddenly slammed his hand on the table. “Right,” he said in a low voice as he stood, “That’s enough. We’ve got what we came for, I think. We’re done here.” Without another word, Fred turned and left the library.

Everyone sat stunned by Fred’s abrupt exit. Hermione and George gave each other a look, then bolted out the door to follow Fred. This left Draco and Harry alone in the library. As Harry looked at Draco, the blond wizard pulled a wry smirk. “Tea?”

~*oOo*~

Fred’s face felt almost lukewarm and flushed as he made a beeline for the Floo—or what he thought was a beeline, since Malfoy Manor was a bloody labyrinth. He heard footsteps approaching behind him and quickened his pace.

“Fred!” He heard Hermione calling after him and his shoulders tensed as he stopped and waited for them without turning around. He felt Hermione at his side, a warm glow despite her tentative approach. “Fred? I’m sorry if all that was upsetting to hear—we’re just trying to help—”

Fred wheeled around to see Hermione and George looking at him with concern etched into their faces. “I’m not upset,” he gritted his teeth into a smile as he turned and continued. “Just fancied a brisk walk through the largest house I’ve ever—ah, bugger it!” He strode through an open door into a lavish toilet. “Thought this was the way back to the grand hall.”

George spoke as patiently as he could. “Listen mate, I know this is difficult, but we agreed we had to try something new—nothing else has worked so far.”

Fred ground his teeth as Hermione added, “We only want to help you, and we’re really getting somewhere—”

“Circe’s sake, enough!” Fred spat harshly, and Hermione and George halted in their tracks. “Just stop. You’ve done enough for me—too much,” Fred continued, restraining his temper. “I’ll never repay it. You sacrificed parts of yourselves for the resurrection spell, and now you give up all your time to help me feel more normal, when I’m not sure I ever can or will. I don’t deserve it—no one does.” He said it without self-pity, almost unfeeling—it was simply a fact.

George and Hermione were speechless. After a moment, Hermione timidly took a few steps toward Fred. “Recently, I told Winky that I thought house elves should be aiming for higher goals than servitude—that it’s the modern era, and they could do anything they wanted with their time, talents, and magic.” She caught Fred’s eyes—he was watching her closely, panting slightly from fleeing so fast, as she drew nearer. “Winky told me that to serve is not lowly. To serve is noble—it is an act of love and sacrifice.” She paused. “We’re doing this because we want to, Fred.”

“I don’t want you to!” Fred shouted in exasperation. He looked at George, “Do you…”

George sighed. “I know, mate.”

“What?” Hermione snapped. “Enough with the twin-speak. What are you trying to say, Fred?” She paused and continued more softly. “Are you saying you’re giving up?”

The twins both shook their heads, and Fred stepped toward Hermione. “I’m saying I’ll never catch up at this rate, love.” He was close enough to run his fingers through her curly hair, to pull her towards him and—Merlin, he was the warmest he’d felt in months. It was hell not to touch her. “I’ll try to repay you for what you did for me, Hermione, in my own way. But if I need to save your life to go back to the way I was before, then there’s nothing to be done, because I’d rather you weren’t put in any situation where your life needs saving ever again.” Fred stepped back, attempting to lighten the tone. “Hell, it’s not so bad. I’m alive! I can make singing mistletoe and punching telescopes, and crack jokes all day with my adoring soulmate.” He blinked in a mock flirtatious way at George. “I don’t need any more than that,” he said decisively as he turned. “Now where’s the sodding Floo?”

George cleared his throat and gestured to a doorway behind them. Fred turned, nodded, and headed through it without another word. The whole ordeal had been emotionally overwrought and uncomfortable, like a scene from one of his mum’s bloody romance novels. He huffed as he stepped toward the Floo and grabbed a handful of powder. He needed to get out.

~*oOo*~

Draco observed his surroundings with a bemused smirk. If you’d told him a year ago—hell, six months ago—that he’d be sat round the elegant Malfoy Manor parlor, taking tea with his mother and Harry Potter, he’d have sent you to the fourth floor of St. Mungo’s to have your head examined. Draco reached for a biscuit and dunked it in his tea, watching Harry and Narcissa fumble for polite small talk. For former mortal enemies, they weren’t faring too badly.

“It’s a shame the rest of the group couldn’t stay for tea,” Narcissa remarked. “I was so looking forward to chatting to Miss Granger. I’m told she’s quite a bright young witch.”

“The brightest witch of our age,” Harry returned cheerfully.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, she’s gotten quite far on the basis of that superlative. Nonetheless, she is quite clever. They were called away on business, Mother—something at the twins’ shop, I believe.”

“Ah, I see,” Narcissa replied, then sipped her tea through the awkward silence that followed until she landed on a new topic. “Mr. Potter, I’m told you’ve been seeing that vivacious young Weasley girl?”

Harry nodded and smiled. “Yes—she’s back at Hogwarts now, but I’m actually going to see her tomorrow at their first Hogsmeade weekend this year. And you can call me Harry, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Narcissa cracked a small self-satisfied smile— _nice to be on a first name basis with The Chosen One_ , Draco thought. “Ah—thank you Harry. You may call me Narcissa, if you like,” she added after a beat. “That’s lovely that you can find time to be with your charming companion, despite the distance.”

Harry grinned affably. “It’s been tough, Narcissa, but we’ve been through worse.”

Narcissa raised her eyebrows. “Quite.” She looked with a sigh at Draco— _Oh Merlin,_ he groaned inwardly. “I wish you could prevail upon my Draco to find a suitable match.”

“Mum…” Draco grumbled.

“He is immovable,” Narcissa continued, undeterred, “and there are so many lovely pureblood witches who would happily court him! Not that blood purity matters,” she swiftly hedged, “but you know. Tradition. What about that Parkinson girl?”

“She’s not really my type,” Draco gritted his teeth, “as you know, Mother.”

Narcissa patted his hand sympathetically. “Darling, I know your dashing young wizard broke your heart—”

“What?” Harry interjected with a mouth full of scone.

“—but do please try to move on. I only want you to be happy, no matter whom you love, dearest,” she affirmed while looking Draco in the eyes, her own starting to brim very slightly. Draco sighed—she was trying, after all. “Of course, if you would only consider one of those charming Greengrass girls—”

“MUM!” Draco roared.

“Fine, fine,” Narcissa waved her regal hand dismissively. She glanced up at a grand clock nearby. “Salazar, it’s nearly 4:00! You must excuse me—I have a dinner to attend later.”

“With whom?” Draco asked. His mother hadn’t seen most of her old friends lately, since they’d outed themselves as Weasley-level blood traitors amongst the Death Eaters and Voldemort sympathizers they used to call friends.

“With dear Andromeda,” Narcissa replied as she stood. “She’s been so disconsolate after what happened to her poor husband and daughter—she wrote me after our day in court, you know.” She stopped in the doorway and mused, “I suppose I’ll need an outfit that little Teddy can’t ruin. He’s quite the handful, Dromeda told me.” She turned and addressed Harry. “Thank you for the delightful company—you are welcome any time, Mr.—Harry, darling. Just call for Dottie when you’re finished, and Draco will see you out. Stay as long as you’d like.” With that, she swept majestically out of the parlor.

An awkward silence fell between the two wizards, and Draco attempted to fill it by taking a sip of tea. Harry swallowed his bite of scone and broke the silence. “I had no idea, mate—there were all those rumors that you were the Slytherin sex god.”

Draco chuckled. “I certainly was—just not with the girls who spread those rumors.” He raised his eyebrows at Harry, who nodded in understanding.

“Who was the wizard your mum mentioned?” Harry asked gingerly.

“Blaise Zabini,” Draco wrinkled his nose. “We dated during seventh year for a few months. We had a great time, for a while,” he reminisced, cracking a small smile. “Blaise told me he broke it off because I was too distant and had no time for him—that was right around the time I became a spy for the Order and was practicing Occlumency round the clock.”

“Damn.” Harry shook his head. “That’s tough. I’m sorry.”

Draco snorted. “What for?”

“I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to become a spy against Voldemort; to hide something like that about yourself from everyone.”

“Can’t you?” Draco fixed Harry with a penetrating stare.

Harry laughed. “The whole world knows my story. Orphan boy. Killed Voldemort—twice. Was a horcrux. What’s to hide?”

“You were a horcrux?” Draco nearly shouted.

“Oh well, that secret’s out,” Harry chuckled again. “Thought everybody knew about that one.” He sighed and put a hand on Draco’s shoulder. Draco’s whole stomach filled with nervous pixies, and he swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I can help you find a bloke, but maybe I can help you blow off some steam—fancy a little one-on-one Quidditch?”

Draco felt a leap in his chest and warmth pool in his stomach as the pixies subsided. He grinned. “You’re on, Potter.”

~*oOo*~

Fred reached his room and slammed his door shut. He didn’t feel angry, really—he wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Frustrated, he supposed. Helpless. He spotted the color-changing ball on his dresser, levitated it into the air, then shouted “ _Confringo!”_ The ball exploded into thousands of little colorful pieces. Fred could hear someone knocking on the door, and he cast Tacitus, making it so he couldn’t hear anything around him. He stared at the colorful shards of the ball. He’d never be able to repay George and Hermione for what they’d done, what they’d sacrificed. He could feel a strange gold glow behind him, and he started to panic, thinking he was having a flashback to Limbo. But he was still in his room, grounded to reality—it just felt like he could sense the glow’s presence, could faintly hear the echo of it saying to him, “You cannot help, Fred Weasley.”

He looked in his mirror, his icy blue eyes full of resolution. “Yes, I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, it's about to heat up in this piece, trust me :) 
> 
> I want to give credit for some of the life debt lore, and the inspiration for my fanfic writing, to ShayaLonnie and her fic Debt of Time. It's a classic, and if for some reason you haven't read it, you definitely should! 
> 
> I hope everyone's holidays have been safe and lovely :)


	16. A Laugh

Fred stood in the back room of the shop, brewing a large batch of Truth or Dare potions so he and George could begin selling them. It had been about three weeks since the incident at Malfoy Manor, and Fred had done exactly what he’d set out to do, at least initially: he was learning to live with his symptoms and taking care of them himself, without becoming a burden to George and Hermione. He found he could warm himself for a time if he cast a warming charm on his clothes, and had taken to wearing gloves so his fingers wouldn’t freeze. He was having fewer flashbacks, and when they occurred, he could find his way back to reality, for the most part. George and Hermione still wanted to help, of course, which meant that he had largely avoided them recently. He still had to figure out a way to repay them.

Fred sighed as he stirred the simmering blue potion. He’d all but given up on anything romantic happening with Hermione. It had been over a month since her breakup with Ron, and it seemed if she’d wanted something to happen, she’d have let him know by now. Just because she’d played the part of his lover in the resurrection spell didn’t make it real, as much as Fred wanted it. So what could he do to repay the witch who had brought him back from the dead out of the goodness of her heart? Help her with research? She hardly needed it, and he suspected he’d only get in her way. Buy her something, jewelry or robes? She didn’t care much for those things. And all these gestures seemed to pale in comparison to resurrecting him from the dead.

Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way—even if she wasn’t _his_ Hermione, she was still the same Hermione he’d always known. She was whip smart, ferociously loyal, and tenacious—and altogether too serious sometimes. Fred had always known how to make her smile, and he suspected, whatever was going on in her life right now, she could use a good laugh. He reached a stopping point with the potion he was brewing and gathered some of WWW’s finest candies in a small purple box. He made sure to include Topsy Turvy, telling himself he had no ulterior motive for including the candy that induced their first heavy make-out session on the ceiling of this very work room. She liked the magic of them; that was all. He glanced at his pocket watch, which sat open on the table. It was 4:30—he could probably still catch Hermione at the office if he hurried. He snapped the watch shut, glancing momentarily at the swirling lion and dragon on the cover before hastily shoving it in his cloak pocket and heading out into Diagon Alley toward the Ministry.

~*oOo*~

As Fred approached Hermione’s office, he heard a small tinkling of glass followed by a loud “BUGGAR!” that caused some of the wizards working in the surrounding offices to look around in confusion. Hoping he would be a welcome distraction and not a punching bag (but willing to accept either), Fred knocked on her door.

“Hermione?” he called. “I don’t think they heard you down on the second floor, you’ll have to speak up.”

After a moment, Hermione opened her door, her face flushed and her hair bigger than usual. “Fred? Is everything ok?”

Fred flashed a charming smile. “Perfectly fine. I come bearing gifts—thought maybe you could use a break. And I seem to have come at the perfect time,” he added as he strode into her office. “Ah,” he looked down and saw the source of the tinkling glass—Hermione had dropped a jar of ink on the floor, and it had cracked and spilled. “Reparo, evanesco,” he muttered, and the bottle repaired itself while the ink disappeared from the carpet.

Hermione closed the door behind him. “Thank you. I’m so—ugh! I just got back from the Wizengamot, and I’m livid. I was so certain the Dobby’s Laws were going to pass without a hitch—they’re such reasonable requests, and most of the Wizengamot members were in favor of them yesterday. But Umbridge led a tirade in court today and managed to block all three sections of the law! She convinced people to switch to her side who I know were in favor of the laws yesterday! Insufferable cow.” She huffed and collapsed into her chair.

“Say the word and I’ll whip up a swamp charm and some impressive fireworks.” Fred leaned against her desk and pulled off his gloves. “Does that mean you’re back at square one?”

Hermione put her head in her hands, her voice muffled. “No, the court has asked for revisions. I’ll present the revised laws in a month.” She raised her head and looked at him. “Did you say you had something for me?”

“A gift! Indeed I did.” Fred pulled the purple box out of his pocket. “Open it up.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Nothing’s going to jump out at me, is it?”

Fred laughed. “No, only nice surprises, I promise.” She opened the box, and a small smile crossed her face as she saw the candy. “We’ve got a few new ones you might be interested in—here, try these.” He pointed out a small packet of brightly colored sugar crystals. “They’re called Pop Rockets.”

Hermione eyed them suspiciously. “What do they do?”

“Taste them and you’ll find out—no fun if I tell you,” Fred teased.

She raised an eyebrow at him, then poured a few of the crystals onto her tongue. Immediately, they began make crackling and popping sounds, and after a few seconds, she opened her mouth and saw small sparks shoot out and turn into tiny colorful fireworks in front of her. She giggled, “Ingenious! And delicious,” she added, popping a few more in her mouth.

Fred beamed proudly—Hermione always did like a good bit of magic. “There’s a few more interesting ones in there—”

But Hermione discovered a twisted chocolate candy and held it aloft. “Is this what I think it is?” she asked coyly.

“It certainly is,” Fred returned with a laugh. “Fancy a little perspective shift?”

Hermione’s brown eyes sparkled as she bit a piece off the Topsy Turvy and found herself seated cross-legged on the ceiling. She laughed and tossed the candy down to Fred, who eagerly bit into it and joined her. He leaned back on his arms and surveyed the office below. “Nice little shoebox you have here, Hermione.”

Hermione was peering at the crack between her desk and a table, normally obscured by her flowering Wolfsbane planter. “So that’s where that quill went, I’ve been looking for that!” She chuckled and looked at Fred. “How do you always know when I need a laugh?”

Hermione had a certain way of looking at Fred, like she was puzzling him out and drinking him in at the same time. It always made his throat go slightly dry, and he swallowed. “You could always use a laugh, Hermione. And I’m always good for a laugh. Just makes sense, really.”

Hermione shifted. “It’s nice to see you again. I don’t think I’ve seen you since—”

“—Malfoy Manor,” Fred finished for her. “Yeah, sorry for being a prat that day, I just needed to figure some things out.”

She turned to face him, still cross-legged. “And did you figure it out? What you’re going to do to repay George and I?”

“I figured out how I’m going to live my life, the sequel,” Fred told her lightheartedly. “I’m back, and I’m alive. I know how to deal with my pesky little issues, and I’m not about to be a burden to anyone. I’ve always known my calling, and it’s cracking jokes and making things explode—so I’m just going to focus on that. If at some point I figure out how to repay you and George, so be it. If not, I’ll settle for making you laugh every now and again.” A small blush crept over Hermione’s cheeks, which made Fred smirk. “So, who can I hex for you? Umbridge? My idiot baby brother?”

Hermione snorted. “No, I’ll deal with Umbridge in my own way. And Ron’s not so bad, really. Harry reckons he’ll be ready to be friends again soon.”

 _Certainly helps that he’s got a date lined up this weekend,_ Fred thought. He wouldn’t be telling Hermione that bit of information, in case it upset her. Although it had been over a month now since they broke up—how long did it take to get over ickle Ronniekins? He couldn’t be that mind-blowing. “Remember the first time we did this?” Fred asked, gesturing at the upside-down office below them.

Hermione smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder. _Whoa,_ Fred breathed as sudden warmth surged through him. “I certainly do,” she confirmed with a laugh. “Quite the revelation.” She fell silent, and Fred felt sure she was remembering everything they’d done on the ceiling of the workshop that day. They sat like that a few moments, each reminiscing contentedly, until Hermione sat up with a start. “Fred!”

Fred furrowed his eyebrows, confused. “What?”

“You’re warm,” she said with mingled delight and amazement, reaching out to touch his shoulder where her head had been. “Right here.”

Emboldened by the warmth now surging through him, radiating from the spot where Hermione was touching him, Fred reached his hand to clasp hers on his shoulder. He leaned forward and said in a low voice, “That’s your doing, I think.”

“My… but how…” Hermione stammered, staring at their clasped hands. 

“Well, you did play the part of the lover in my resurrection,” Fred ventured, reaching for a tendril of Hermione’s hair. “It was agony keeping my distance these past few weeks.”

Hermione nodded, her lips parted slightly. “It was,” she whispered. “Maybe our bond wants us to be…”

“Close?” Fred finished for her. “Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but the bond and I are in agreement. But what I don’t know is: what do you want, Hermione?” He said her name almost like a prayer, a whisper of a plea in his tone as he held her gaze.

Hermione swallowed, staring into Fred’s icy blue eyes.

A knock at Hermione’s office door made both of them jump. “Hermione?” a deep voice bellowed. “Umbridge is at it again, that mangy—” A tall, mustachioed man opened the door and looked around in bewilderment before looking up and seeing Fred and Hermione sitting on the ceiling, having hastily scooted away from each other when they heard him knock.

“Edwardus!” Hermione exclaimed, her voice shaking slightly. “I wasn’t expecting you. Have you met Fred Weasley?” She gestured to him, desperate to take control of the situation. “My boss, Edwardus Lima.”

“Ah,” Fred grinned winningly and shook the man’s hand from above. “It’s a pleasure, sir.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” the man chuckled warmly. “Well Hermione, I knew you’d hit the ceiling after that Wizengamot hearing, but this isn’t quite what I expected.”

“Oh!” Hermione started, realizing she and Fred were still upside-down. “Right. Just a sec.” She grabbed the Topsy Turvy and bit into it, landing cross-legged on top of her desk, which was strewn with papers. She scrambled to her chair, reddening as she said, “I’m so sorry, Edwardus. I was just—”

“It’s my fault, really,” Fred interjected, standing to grab the Topsy Turvy and taking a bite, finding himself standing beside Hermione’s desk as he flipped right-side-up. “I sometimes ask Hermione to test some of the WWW products—she’s got a great mind for R&D, you know.”

Edwardus chuckled. “I don’t doubt it. Think nothing of it, Hermione—I’m glad you’ve had a chance to cool down. We’ll figure Umbridge out, don’t you worry. You’re doing great work.” He smiled reassuringly at her. “Is everything all set for your trip to Scotland tomorrow?”

“Yes, everything’s in order.” Fred raised his eyebrows at Hermione, and she explained. “I’m heading to Scotland to negotiate with the werewolf packs there, and Bill’s coming with me. Actually, I’ll be visiting Ginny as well—she’s gotten special permission to meet me in Hogsmeade on a school day. Any message you want me to relay to the eldest and youngest Weasleys?” she asked with a smile.

Fred thought for a moment. “See if you can get Bill to howl at the moon—he says he doesn’t have that particular wolfy urge, but I bet he’d like it anyway.” He added as an afterthought, “And tell Ginny she’s too young for a boyfriend.”

“Merlin’s beard, she’s been dating Harry for almost two years now! You like Harry!” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, not in this context,” Fred said with a scowl.

Edwardus laughed. “Well Mr. Weasley, it’s an honor to meet one of the founders of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. I’m a big fan of your products. I’ve alarmed a lot of people on the streets with those Headless Hats.” He turned to leave. “Let me know if you need anything, Hermione.”

“Thank you, Edwardus!” she called after him.

As the door closed, Hermione and Fred looked at each other. Warmth tingled through Fred’s fingers as he remembered what they’d been doing—or about to do—when her boss entered, and his heart beat faster. “Hermione—”

“I suppose I ought to get back to work,” Hermione responded hastily, gathering some papers from her desk. “Lots to prepare for tomorrow. And I should really get a head start on these revisions for Dobby’s Laws.” She looked at him. “Thank you for the candy. And the perspective,” she said with a small smile.

Fred let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and grinned tightly. “That’s what I’m here for.” He headed toward the door, pausing before he opened it. “See you soon?”

Without hesitation, Hermione replied, “Yes. I’d like that.”

Fred smirked and walked out of her office, closing the door and pausing a moment just outside to allow himself a celebratory fist pump. A sudden thought struck him, and he strode confidently toward the elevator. One quick trip to the fifth floor later, and he was heading to his brother Percy’s office in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, where he’d been demoted from Junior Minister to his previous position after the events of the past year. Fred knocked on his door, his brain whirring. After a moment, his brother appeared at the door.

“Fred!” Percy exclaimed. “What brings you to the Ministry?”

“Purely a social call—visiting Hermione down on the fourth floor. But I’ve had a brilliant idea, Perce. I could use your help.”

Percy eagerly nodded. “Okay—well I’m happy to help, you know that, Fred.” Ever since Fred’s untimely (and thankfully, temporary) demise at the Battle of Hogwarts at Percy’s side, Percy had been plagued by survivor’s guilt and remorse—particularly because of his estrangement from his family prior to the battle. Fred knew Percy would agree to almost anything to assuage his guilt and help Fred. Percy paused and asked, “Exactly what sort of brilliant idea have you had? Nothing illegal, I presume?”

Fred shrugged. “It’s legal—shady and a bit sneaky, though.”

Percy grinned. “I can handle that. What do you need me to do?”

Fred clapped him on the back, “I knew I could count on you.” He wasn’t sure, but he had a pretty good idea of how he could start to repay Hermione. “I want you to do a bit of digging into Umbridge, ask around—any Ministry records on her past you can find would be great. And if you can also get into her office and poke around a bit, that would be ideal.”

“Okay,” Percy said slowly, “but what exactly am I looking for?”

“Anything illegal, immoral—hell, even just impolite will do. Hermione can’t do her job unless Umbridge is out of her way—I want to help her take Umbridge down, once and for all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all are having as much fun reading this as I am writing it :) thanks for all the kudos and comments!


	17. Cupid's Arrow

“Circe’s sake! You’d think my brothers would grow up at some point. It’s none of their business who I date!” Ginny angrily swigged her butterbeer as Hermione grimaced.

“They’re just overprotective. I agree, it’s none of their business!” she exclaimed in defense as Ginny looked ready to retort. “The twins still think of you as their baby sister, that’s all. Ron’s got to the point where he only turns a bit pink when he sees you and Harry together, so that’s progress.”

“Hmph,” Ginny glowered. “Maybe I’ll give Ron a taste of his own potion—tell him he’s too delicate and innocent to be going on his date this weekend, see how he likes it.”

Hermione was taken aback momentarily, but tried to collect herself as she asked, “Ron has a date this weekend?”

“Oh!” Ginny suddenly remembered whom she was talking to. “Hermione, I didn’t mean to say—I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s the first date he’s been on since you broke up, he’s mostly been a wreck—”

“No—that’s okay, Ginny, you didn’t do anything wrong. And I don’t want him to be a wreck. I’d like to be friends again, eventually, and this type of thing will happen,” Hermione reasoned, though she felt her chest tighten. “Who’s he going out with?”

“Susan Bones,” Ginny replied. “We can hate her if you want to. It’s within your rights, as the ex.”

“No,” Hermione laughed, “though I appreciate the offer. Susan always seemed lovely—I hope it goes well,” she concluded decidedly.

“Well, the offer still stands, if you change your mind,” Ginny shrugged. “So how did it go with my other brother?”

Hermione froze. “What?”

“Today, with the werewolf packs? Were the negotiations smooth?”

Hermione breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh! Yes, they went quite well—Bill was very helpful. Werewolf leadership is scattered, since Fenrir Greyback was killed, so the packs are looking for protection. They seem wary, but willing to cooperate if we agree to some terms—protective civil rights laws, access to regularly brewed, affordable Wolfsbane potion, things like that.” She made a mental note to consult the bills her predecessor Diemburg had left behind to see if there was a basic framework for werewolf laws she could use. Edwardus might remember, but she didn’t like to talk to him about his missing former colleague, in case it upset him.

“Godric, that’s so exciting, Hermione! You’re really doing it—it’s exactly what you always wanted,” Ginny remarked in awe.

Hermione grinned. “I know. It seems incredible that I was even considering turning down this job.” She peered more closely at her friend. “Have you thought about what you want to do once you graduate Hogwarts?”

With a shrug and a sigh, Ginny replied, “I’m not sure. I’m not that excited about most of my school subjects. I like charms and transfiguration well enough, but I don’t really want to be a curse breaker like Bill—too much arithmancy. Or go into auror training like Ron, or work in the shop with Fred and George. I suppose I don’t want to follow in any of my brothers’ footsteps,” she mused.

“That makes sense—you want to do your own thing,” Hermione pointed out.

“Yeah. Honestly, the thing I like most in school is Quidditch. I know everyone who plays for their school’s Quidditch team thinks they could play in the major leagues, but I am the Captain now, and Angelina thinks I’d be in with a chance at the Holyhead Harpies.”

“Really? Gin, that sounds perfect for you.”

Ginny grinned. “It’d certainly be different.” She took another sip of her butterbeer. “So how are my big brothers? I haven’t heard much from the twins lately.”

“They’re just busy, I expect. I hadn’t heard much from them either for a few weeks, to be honest. Fred’s working through some side effects from the spell.” Hermione paused before she continued, “But I saw him yesterday, he’s looking well.” She couldn’t help the blush that crept on her cheeks.

Ginny cocked her head as she noted Hermione’s blush. “Alright, what exactly is the deal with you and Fred? And with that spell you performed with George, all that lover business?”

Hermione hesitated, then leaned closer to Ginny as she confided, “Well, no one really knew except George—and now Ron knows too—but Fred and I… well, we kissed a handful of times while we were at Hogwarts.”

“WHAT?!” Ginny squealed. “How in the hell did you keep that a secret? Ron and Harry didn’t know?”

Hermione shook her head. “Not even a clue. Ron would’ve gone ballistic.”

Ginny nodded. “Is that… why you broke up with him?”

“It was mutual, Gin. The stuff with Fred—well, it bothered him a bit, but it wasn’t really about that. We’re just better as friends, in the end.”

Ginny sat back, shaking her head. “I cannot believe my best friend had a secret love affair with my brother—and NOT the one everyone thought she was having a secret love affair with—and didn’t tell me!” Before Hermione could protest the use of the phrase “secret love affair,” Ginny rattled on, “Tell me everything! Ok well, not all the gory details, he is still my brother—but spill it, I wanna know how it happened!”

~*oOo*~

“ _Confringo,”_ Hermione muttered at a decorative floating pink heart near Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop window, one of many decorating the streets of Hogsmeade this Valentine’s Day. The heart burst into thousands of tiny pieces, and Hermione smirked as she hurried through the streets. She’d only come to Hogsmeade to pick up a few books at Tomes and Scrolls, and had no intention of staying long in the sickly-sweet love fest that was Hogsmeade on Valentine’s Day. In fact, she’d specifically avoided the route that would take her past Madam Puddifoot’s, as she suspected that was where a certain red-headed arse named Won-Won and his insufferable girlfriend Lavender would be spending their afternoon.

No matter how she’d tried, she couldn’t help being assailed by visions of love all around her, between the pink hearts and the canoodling couples on the streets, in the shops, on benches. She rolled her eyes and tried to look straight at the ground as she headed back to Hogwarts. Unfortunately, this meant she didn’t see the person standing directly in her path, and she bumped right into them. She felt two strong hands on her arms steadying her, and she looked up into the bemused face of Fred Weasley. “Whoa! What’s your rush, Hermione?”

She blinked in surprise. “Fred? Merlin, it’s good to see you! What are you doing here?”

Fred shrugged. “Obviously, Hogsmeade is the place to be on Valentine’s Day. Look at this sickening display.” He gestured around to a couple who were snogging on a bench surrounded by the floating pink hearts, which seemed to be egging them on. “Nice work with that blast curse, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Hermione preened. “Honestly, I’d like to get out of Hogsmeade as soon as possible today.”

“Not so fast! I just got here.” Fred reached into his bag and pulled out a rectangular wrapped parcel and handed it to Hermione. “And you were just the witch I was looking for.”

“You brought me a present?” Hermione asked in shock. Fred merely grinned at her as she unwrapped the parcel. Inside the box was a gold and pink striped straw and a small bag filled with… peas? On the side of the straw were the words “Cupid’s Arrow” in red letters. Hermione lifted the straw and examined it, perplexed. “What is it?”

“Allow me to demonstrate.” Fred took the straw and loaded a pea into it. He then aimed it at the couple still furiously snogging on a bench and shot the pea towards them. It hit the boy in the back, and he immediately disengaged from lip lock and began to sing, “ _Ah, sweet mystery of life, at last I’ve found you…”_ with a look of confusion and embarrassment on his face. His date looked horrified, and quickly dragged him from the street as people started to laugh.

Hermione put a hand over her mouth as she guffawed. “That was brilliant! So it causes people to make fools of themselves?”

“Close.” Fred handed the Cupid’s Arrow back to Hermione, who took it and loaded it with another pea. “It only embarrasses people engaging in excessive amounts of PDA—which, in my opinion, should already embarrass them enough.” He grinned at her. “Try it out.”

Hermione looked around for another couple, and spotted Blaise Zabini and a Ravenclaw boy getting very amorous down a nearby alley. She shot a pea directly at Blaise’s back, and as soon as it hit him, he took his tongue out of his date’s mouth long enough to vomit directly onto his shoes. Both wizards turned pale and gagged as Blaise’s date tried to clean the sick off of his shoes with his wand and Blaise apologized furiously.

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Hermione chuckled as she examined the Cupid’s Arrow.

Fred gave her a lopsided smile. “I thought if anyone would appreciate this right now, it’s you.” He hesitated before continuing. “I hear that idiot brother of mine has been behaving badly lately. Maybe he could use a hit from Cupid’s Arrow.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up as she imagined it. “Oooh, that would be good.” She eyed Fred more carefully. “Do you mean to tell me that you came all this way just to give me a present? On Valentine’s Day?” She smirked as he reddened.

“The day was immaterial,” he quickly hedged as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “But, basically yeah.” His brown eyes met hers and Hermione breathed in sharply. Why had she been so preoccupied with what Ron had been doing? She felt all her jealousy melting away as she took in Fred’s eyes, his charming smile, his lips…

Fred tilted his chin up slightly to gesture behind Hermione. “Look over there.” She turned and saw a girl about to kiss her boyfriend, and quickly loaded and aimed the pea shooter. As soon as the pea hit the girl, she farted loudly and pulled away in shock as her date pulled a disgusted face.

Fred chortled as Hermione wrinkled her nose. “This is exceedingly juvenile, you know.”

“Yeah, that’s the fun,” Fred said through chuckles. The girl who’d been hit was looking around and saw them laughing. “Oh shit!” Fred grabbed Hermione’s hand and dragged her down the street, both of them laughing.

“Wait, I know! Follow me,” Hermione exclaimed, pulling Fred away from the road. She wasn’t sure what had come over her—she just knew that in this exact moment, all she wanted was to tear this wizard’s clothes off, and she wasn’t about to do it in the streets of Hogsmeade. She led him down a snowy path toward the Shrieking Shack, and they stopped at the door, both panting slightly. They looked at each other, not saying anything for a moment before Hermione tried to open the door. “Bollocks, it’s locked! I should have known,” Hermione frowned. “ _Alohomora!”_ But the door wouldn’t budge.

Fred put a hand on her shoulder. “Hang on, I know a way in.” He tapped on three wooden planks surrounding the door, which shivered and glowed as the door swung open. “The Marauders taught me everything I know.” He held the door and gestured for Hermione to enter.

Hermione walked in and surveyed the decrepit shack. “Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve been in here. Not since third year with Lupin and Sirius, and Pettigrew.” She shook her head.

Fred nodded. “Yeah, not since fifth year with Angelina for me.” Hermione looked at him sharply. “That was a long time ago though!” She rolled her eyes, and Fred stepped toward her. “Any particular reason you dragged me to this shack, Hermione?” he asked in a low voice.

She looked at him, still breathing heavily from their run, and stepped toward him as she crashed her lips against his. He brought his hand to her neck, pulling her closer as she tangled her hands in his hair. As Fred’s other hand travelled to the small of her back, her gripped her tightly and lifted her just off the ground, pinning her up against a nearby wall. The impact caused a loose beam to clatter to the floor, and they both jumped and pulled back from their kiss. They looked at the beam and laughed as Fred brought his lips to hers, more tenderly this time. When he broke their kiss, he brought his forehead to hers, their heavy breaths making clouds in the cold air.

“As much as I’m enjoying this,” Fred began, pulling back from Hermione to see her face, “I have to ask—is this about me, or about getting back at my brother?”

The insecurity in his eyes nearly broke Hermione’s heart. “Fred, I—yes, I’ve been angry at Ron, and I still am. But honestly, I’d completely forgotten about that ever since you showed me your Cupid’s Arrow.”

Relief washed through Fred’s brown eyes as he tucked a lock of Hermione’s hair behind her ear. “Well, that makes sense. My Cupid’s Arrow is a sight to behold.” Hermione laughed, smacking him lightly on the arm. He grabbed her hands, pulling them above her head and pinning them against the wall. He brought his lips teasingly close to hers, watching the ache in her eyes build before he kissed her again. As their tongues met and they deepened their kiss, he released her hands and brought his own to her back, lowering them both as gently as he could to the dusty wooden floor of the Shrieking Shack. Fred settled on top of her, relishing the heat of her body in the cold February air.

Later, Hermione returned to the girls’ dormitory with a smile on her face that she could not stop from spreading (and a couple of hickeys on her neck that she’d have to glamour). She sat on her bed, thankful to be alone in the dorm for once, and examined the box with the Cupid’s Arrow in it. She noticed a note had been tucked into the box under the straw. She opened it and read, in Fred’s untidy scrawl:

_For a little revenge on a certain red-headed git._

~*oOo*~

“And that was the last time anything physical or romantic happened between us—until what almost happened yesterday, I suppose,” Hermione concluded as Ginny sat listening with mouth agape.

“Godric. That’s fucking hot, Hermione.” As Hermione laughed, Ginny went on, “And it’s romantic too, how he’s pined for you for so long, and went to so much trouble to give you little things or make you smile—”

“Well—I don’t know if ‘pined’ is the right word,” Hermione corrected. “But we certainly have a kind of chemistry together.”

“I’ll say.” Ginny took a sip of her butterbeer and leaned back. “So how come you’re not together now?”

“Well, Ron and I—”

“—have been broken up for two months now, and he’s moved on,” Ginny interrupted impatiently, “So why exactly aren’t you and Fred together?”

“I—well, I haven’t been ready to date anyone yet! And I wasn’t sure Fred would want to…” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Seriously Gin! He’s had a rough go of it, coming back from the dead. He’s been preoccupied.”

Ginny shook her head. “He’s just been giving you space, I’m sure of it. He probably thinks you’re still hung up on Ron.” She leaned forward excitedly. “You’ve got to find a way to let him know you’re ready to give it a go with him!” She raised one eyebrow in uncertainty. “You are, aren’t you?”

Hermione paused. “I don’t know. I think so.” As she admitted it, a small blush crept onto her cheeks and a smile on her lips, and Ginny smirked. “I think I’d like to talk to Ron first though.”

“Ugh, fine.” Ginny assented as she finished her glass of butterbeer. “Just promise me you’ll get through all the talking quickly and get to snogging my brother already—the right one this time!”

As Hermione laughed, she heard a voice behind her call, “Alright, Ginny? Ready to head back to the castle?”

Ginny stood. “Ready as ever, Neville.”

Neville approached the table with his patented sheepish look. “Sorry Hermione—McGonagall asked me to get Ginny back by suppertime.”

“Of course! I appreciate you taking her to see me on a school night.” Hermione gathered her things. “How is teaching going?”

“Pretty well, I think,” Neville replied, casting a questioning look to Ginny. “I mean, it’s mostly just assisting Professor Sprout with tending the greenhouses and grading papers, but I’m learning loads.”

“He’s doing brilliantly; he’s so modest!” Ginny interjected as Neville’s cheeks reddened. “He’s been teaching the seventh years all about Devil’s Snare and cross-pollination between Venomous Tentaculas and Mandrakes—it’s really fascinating. And Herbology usually bores me to tears, so that’s saying something,” she gushed.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it, Neville. I’ll walk with you back to the castle—I want to see if I can find Firenze, to chat about being a centaur liaison.”

As they walked back to the castle, Ginny and Neville chatted amiably. Neville always blushed when anyone complimented him, but he seemed to turn a particular shade of pink when Ginny did it. And Ginny was certainly effusive in her complimenting of Neville lately, Hermione noted. Probably no need to mention that to Harry, she thought. She suddenly remembered that she’d see all the Weasleys, except for Ginny and Charlie, at Sunday dinner that weekend. A conversation with Ron seemed inevitable, and she figured she had better get it over with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends--I won't go into specifics, but I've had a rough day, and it warms my heart to post some quasi-smutty Fremione fun for you all. Comment if you like, I truly appreciate it. It's starting to heat up!


	18. Discoveries

Draco held his arms out to his sides as the security witch performed a Revelio charm on him, feeling the light tingle of the spell sweep through his body. He handed over his wand to the guard and watched as his lawyer, Themis Finch, did the same with hers. Themis had been representing Draco in his attempts to have the Malfoy holdings, including the manor, transferred to either his name or his mother’s, with no success. Themis was firm, resourceful, and no-nonsense, as well as a half-blood witch—just the sort of lawyer to raise his father’s ire.

The security witch led Draco and his lawyer through the dingy corridors of Azkaban to a thick metal door with a small window through which Draco could see his father, sitting at a table next to his obsequious lawyer, Janus Darrow. Lucius normally looked polished and slick, never a hair out of place. It was always unnerving to see him like this—unkempt hair and bloodshot eyes. Draco couldn’t decide if it made him less intimidating (because he was less himself) or more frightening (because he was less powerful and therefore more desperate). He sat still and stern at the table, looking as proud and solemn as ever—but Draco decided he looked smaller this way.

The witch unlocked the heavy door for Draco and Themis and waved them inside, uttering a gruff “You’ve got fifteen minutes,” before leaving and slamming the door.

Darrow grinned his slimily charming grin and said, “Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Finch—a pleasure as always. Have a seat.” Themis looked at Draco and gave him a subtle nod before taking her seat beside him and across from Lucius and Darrow. Lucius had been staring down his nose at Draco the entire time he’d been in the room, as if he were a flobberworm on the ground rather than his own son.

“This shouldn’t take long,” Finch began, opening the folder she’d brought and bringing out a contract. “Mr. Lucius Malfoy is imprisoned in Azkaban for the remainder of his life without the possibility of parole. Article 35 of the Wizarding Penal Code states that assets of incarcerated individuals may be transferred to an appointed heir, for an agreed-upon price.” She slid the papers toward Darrow. “My client is willing to compensate Mr. Lucius Malfoy for Malfoy Manor, to be transferred to Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy’s name, and for his business holdings, to be transferred to my client Mr. Draco Malfoy. My client feels entitled to these assets as the heir apparent of the Malfoy estate, but wishes to compensate his father, so as to ensure his… comfort, as best it can be assured in Azkaban. This is our offer, which we feel is quite generous.”

 _I’ll say,_ Draco thought begrudgingly. It was most of his trust he’d been given when he came of age, and some of the one he’d acquire when he turned 25 to boot. Of course, he could always earn more from his father’s holdings and investments, as most Malfoys before him had done. That was the real value in the Malfoy estate, and this was the brilliance of Themis’s plan, though it felt like a gamble to Draco.

Darrow scoffed. “Such an offer is of no use or benefit to my client. Mr. Lucius Malfoy is perfectly capable of retaining these assets and intends to do so.”

“Why?” Draco interjected as Themis immediately stepped in.

“Your client would be wise to take the cash—it will be of more use to him here.”

“I disagree,” Lucius drawled. “I have no intention of gifting my family’s Manor—”

“—we’re not asking for a gift—” Draco started hotly.

“—to my estranged wife, who is only a Malfoy by marriage,” Lucius finished evenly. “It should belong to a Malfoy. And as for the holdings,” he sneered at Draco, “you wouldn’t know what to do with them. I can manage them perfectly well from where I am.”

Themis shook her head. “Article 16 of the Penal Code prohibits felons from conducting business from Azkaban.”

“Not anymore,” Darrow crooned, the Chesire Cat-like grin on his face spreading wider. “There’s been an amendment to the code. Just went through yesterday in the Wizengamot—thanks to Ms. Umbridge.” Draco rolled his eyes as Darrow continued. “Seems there’s been a boom of asset-rich felons in Azkaban of late, and the Wizengamot wants to make sure their rights are protected. Felons who are imprisoned for life can still retain all assets and conduct their business from Azkaban without state intervention, provided they have settled their monetary debt to society—and their business dealings are above board, of course.”

“That shouldn’t apply in this case,” Themis objected. “We’re talking about an heir requesting his inheritance early, not a surrender of holdings to the state. My client is requesting what he is due.”

“We’re talking about my spoiled son who thinks he’s ready to be the man of the Malfoy family,” Lucius curled his lip in disgust. “He’s not. I won’t be signing anything today, or in the future, Ms. Finch.”

“Unbelievable!” Draco exploded, causing Finch and Darrow to blink as Lucius eyed his son evenly. “Forget the holdings for one minute, or whether you think I’m capable of handling your precious business dealings. Mother feels like a guest in her own home, and she knows you could divorce her and cast her out at any time. Don’t you want to give her peace of mind? She’s still your wife!”

“It seems we’re done playing grown-ups with the lawyers today, eh Draco?” Lucius quipped. “Darrow, Ms. Finch, if you would excuse us, please.”

Both lawyers looked at each other with raised eyebrows, and Themis leaned toward Draco. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out.” She and Darrow rose and left, each eying the other with obvious contempt.

As the door closed, Lucius spoke softly, his rage seething just below the surface. “You and your mother are traitors to the Malfoy name. You don’t deserve the manor, the holdings, or your inheritance. Rest assured, _son,”_ he spat, “I will do everything in my power to disinherit you, and seize everything you own.”

Draco raised one eyebrow—there was always an angle with his father. “Unless what?”

Lucius shrugged regally. “Unless you can turn back time and prevent yourself from turning traitor? This isn’t a quid pro quo, Draco. There is _nothing_ you can offer me,” he hissed, “that will undo the damage you have done. You have sullied the Malfoy name, you and your mother both, and I will be rid of you one way or another.”

Draco looked at his father, seething and proud despite his tattered Azkaban robes, and remembered the sniveling sycophant his father had been the year before. He flashed back to the first time Lucius had taught him about the Malfoy family magic. Draco had been four years old, and was throwing a tantrum because his father had taken his favorite stuffed hippogriff away. His father had smiled, bent down, and whispered in Draco’s ear, “Hippogriffs are simple, stupid creatures. You don’t want him anyway.” Draco had immediately quieted his screaming, realizing his father was right. As Lucius stood and smirked, he told Draco, “One day, I’ll teach you how to do that, son. Influence magic is the Malfoy family’s secret. It makes us one of the most powerful pureblood families. Learn to wield it well, and you will make me proud.”

Draco’s thoughts veered back to the present day, and he sneered at his father. “Malfoys do not beg, or grovel, or worship maniacal murderers simply to enrich their own bloated power,” he said as calmly as he could. “Malfoys are proud and powerful in their own right. The only person who has sullied the Malfoy name, dear father, is you.”

Lucius chuckled, rubbing his right hand where his rings used to be. “You sound almost like a Gryffindor, Draco. You never did learn the appropriate subtlety for the Malfoy magic. Such a shame.” He sighed as he waved his son off. “Do give my best to Dolores the next time you see her. I must thank her for that helpful little law of hers—most opportune timing, really.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, and as the security witch banged on the door to retrieve him, he wondered if the Malfoy business holdings weren’t the only power to which his father was clinging. The timing of this new law was suspicious, and Draco had a hunch that his father might be wielding his influential Malfoy family magic from Azkaban.

~*oOo*~

Fred sat sipping a whiskey on the rocks at a muggle pub in London called Priory Arms. He found the muggle alcohol warmed his body slightly, or at least numbed it to the cold, and he’d been growing steadily colder since he’d left Hermione’s office yesterday. Just the thought of her hand on his shoulder and her face so close to his warmed his cheeks slightly though, and he smiled as he took another sip.

“Fred!” He looked up as he saw his brother Percy approach and pull up a stool next to Fred at the bar. Percy gestured to the bartender, yelling, “Butterbeer, please.”

The bartender scowled and looked at Percy quizzically. “We don’t do fruity drinks here, mate.”

Fred leaned forward and intervened. “He means a pint of lager—whatever you’ve got on draft.” The bartender looked skeptically at the pair of them before pouring Percy a pint. Fred leaned toward Percy and muttered, “You’ve really got to get out in the muggle world more, mate.”

“Right,” Percy wrinkled his nose at his amber pint before taking a sip, but as soon as he did, his expression relaxed. “Oh! Quite refreshing, actually.”

Fred grinned. “So Perce, what did you dig up for me so far?”

“Well, I haven’t had much time,” Percy began, pulling out a small leatherbound notebook. “We’ve been so swamped at work—international diplomacy has really suffered this last year, due to—well, You-Know-Who’s infiltration of the Ministry, I suppose, but myriad other factors—”

“Yes, yes,” Fred interrupted, trying to be patient. “What about Umbridge? And those people she got to on the Wizengamot?”

“Oh! Well, I spoke with several Wizengamot members about Dobby’s Law and the recent amendment to the Wizarding Penal Code, which is really quite fascinating—” Percy stopped as Fred opened his mouth to retort, “—though not, I suspect, to you… Anyway, several of the people I spoke to said they felt differently about the laws before the vote yesterday, but after they spoke to Umbridge, they found they agreed with her. They feel she speaks up for the traditional Wizarding ways, and that she’s very persuasive.” Percy rolled his eyes. “Coercive, more like, though I can’t find any evidence of that yet.”

“Okay,” Fred said slowly. “So she might be doing something to coerce people to vote the way she likes. Anything else, like maybe how in the hell she might be doing that?”

“Nothing concrete yet,” Percy admitted, “Although I did get a chance to visit her office this morning, under the pretense of needing her to approve some international Portkeys.”

Fred wrinkled his nose. “I suppose it was all pink cushions and cats, the usual tat.”

“Indeed,” Percy confirmed, “though there was one suspicious item that didn’t fit with everything else.” He leaned in and whispered, for dramatic effect. “She left me alone in her office for a few minutes to get her supervisor’s signature, and I had a bit of a poke around. Under a small table with a lacy tablecloth and tea tray on top, there’s a dark wooden chest that appears to be locked. It rattled when I saw it, so something’s in there.”

“Now we’re talking,” Fred replied, taking another swig of his whisky. “Did you try to unlock it?”

Percy shook his head. “There was no time for an _Alohomora._ I didn’t have time to lay a finger on it before I heard Umbridge returning, and had to act casual,” he said with feigned nonchalance.

“A regular James Bond you are, Perce,” Fred said approvingly, giving his brother a good-natured pat on the back. Percy beamed and sipped his lager. “What do you suppose she’d hiding in that chest?”

“Well, I had a bit of a think about that,” Percy said, opening his notebook and reading from it. “There are some dark artifacts that are useful in mind control and bending others to your will. If she’s got an artifact like that, it might explain her new pull with the Wizengamot.” He looked up from his notes. “Hard to say how she would obtain such an artifact, though. She’s not a pureblood, and she was never an out-and-proud Voldemort lackey.”

“No,” Fred said, his expression darkening as he thought back to his afternoon researching family magic in Malfoy Manor, “but she may have friends who are.”

~*oOo*~

“Well, o’ course I’m glad yeh could stop by, Hermione,” Hagrid said as he led her to Firenze’s stable, not far from Hagrid’s hut, “Though I wish yeh could stay for tea or summat.”

“I know, I’m sorry Hagrid! I really ought to have gone back ages ago—I only stayed to speak to Firenze, because my boss wants to start negotiations with centaurs in a few weeks.” Hermione bit her lip—she would have loved to spend more time with Hagrid if she could. “But you know, I’m sure we’ll be dealing with giants in a couple of months, and we could use your expertise, and Madame Maxime’s!”

Hagrid beamed. “Me, a Ministry liaison to the giants, eh? Never thought I’d see the day.” He chuckled. “Well, here’s Firenze’s stable, Hermione. He might be out back running—he likes a bit of a run after dinner, I think.”

“I’ll check—thanks Hagrid!” Hermione gave Hagrid a hug as he scooped her in a bear hug with his enormous arms. “I’ll write you soon, I promise!”

“You better!” Hagrid laughed as he walked back to his hut.

Hermione stepped forward and knocked on the stable door, half expecting there to be no answer. After a few moments, the thick barn door slid to the side and Firenze stood before her, as majestic and handsome as she remembered him. He shook his blond hair as he regarded her. “You are not a student of mine. Miss Granger, is it?”

“Yes—I’m not a student at all anymore, actually. But Divination was never one of my strengths, admittedly.”

Firenze shrugged imperceptibly. “Most humans do not possess the gift. It was most wise of you to sense it.”

A moment of silence fell between them, and Hermione shifted awkwardly. “If you don’t mind, Professor—I work for the Department of Magical Being Cooperation, as a junior negotiator. My job is to liaise with magical being communities and assure that their rights and traditions are protected under wizarding law, and that our societies can co-exist peacefully.”

Firenze nodded. “A noble goal.”

“Well,” Hermione continued, “my department head would like to reach out to centaurs next, and I thought I would approach you first, to see if you’d be interested in working with us.” Silence fell between them again, and Hermione nervously went on. “You know—because you work at Hogwarts. You seem to have an interest in cooperating with wizardkind, am I right?”

“I am interested in keeping the peace.” Firenze paused, deep in thought. “Would you like to come in for a moment?”

Hermione was stunned. “Yes, thank you.” She stepped in to what looked like a cross between a stable and a forest. There was a walled section with several stalls piled high with hay, barrels of water, and an extremely tall desk with papers and books; this section gave way to an open area with a circle of trees reaching up into the sunset pink sky that blended seamlessly with the edge of the Forbidden Forest nearby. In the middle of the circle were several pillows, and Hermione realized that must be where Firenze sat while he observed the movements in the sky.

Firenze directed her toward a tall table on the stable side of the dwelling, with two tall barstools on one side. “Have a seat.” Hermione sat while he stood opposite her. “I will consider this partnership, Miss Granger, but I must warn you—of all the beings you encounter, centaurs may be the most difficult. We have our own history, our own laws, and our own ways. We keep to ourselves, and we do not mean to assimilate.” He was not stern as he said this, but matter-of-fact.

“Oh no,” Hermione assured him, “we don’t want you to assimilate either. Protecting your history and culture is very important to us. As we’re working with various societies, we’re endeavoring to make sure our laws protect your civil rights to pursue your own ways as your society deems appropriate, and to protect you from meddling or harm from wizardkind.”

Firenze’s eyebrows raised a touch. “Does your Ministry think we need protecting?”

“No,” Hermione said, reddening—this was harder than she’d anticipated. “We think we need laws in place to punish wizards who would do harm to your society, that’s all.”

“We have our own laws for dealing with wizards who meddle with centaur ways,” Firenze countered. “It would be best for the Ministry not to interfere. The last time they did, it ended badly.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Are you talking about Ms. Umbridge, sir?”

Firenze nodded curtly. “As I understand, she was brought to the herd and tried before them for her crimes—trying to seize land that rightfully belongs to centaurs and threatening them bodily harm are minor crimes, but in her struggle, she raised her wand against one of ours and killed him.” Hermione gasped as Firenze continued, “This could not be borne without justice. Our punishments may seem brutal, but they must be done to balance the crimes committed. That is our way.”

Hermione nodded. “I remember—she was nearly trampled to death.”

Firenze furrowed his eyebrows. “Not nearly. Was. And yet she lives again, thanks to the meddling of wizardkind. We foresaw this, but hoped it would not come to pass. You would be wise to proceed with extreme caution, Miss Granger. The herd has not forgotten what happened, nor what is coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh I've been looking forward to this one for a while. Comment your theories, I'd love to hear them!!


	19. Getting Warmer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I had to change the rating to explicit, because I got a little carried away 👀👀 you've all been very patient, and I hope you enjoy a little well-earned smut!

“Fred, zere is no need to mash ze potatoes so hard! You will pulverize zem!”

“Huh?” Fred looked at his bewitched masher, which had been feverishly beating his bowl of potatoes to a pulp for the last few minutes. “Sorry Fleur—thought mashing them was the point.” He looked at George, who shrugged as he peeled potatoes next to Fred.

“Yes, but zey should be creamy and smooth, not liquid and runny! _Doucement,_ please.” Fred smiled tightly and returned his masher to a medium speed. Mrs. Weasley had finally allowed Fleur to cook the Sunday dinner this week and enjoy some time off—but as it turned out, Fleur was an even more stringent taskmaster than Molly. She was preparing duck confit and ordering the various Weasleys around as if she were head chef at a 5-star Parisian restaurant. “‘Ow are ze vegetables coming, Ron and Hermione?”

“Just fine, Fleur!” Hermione replied and returned to her conversation with Ron as they chopped vegetables. They’d gone straight for the vegetables together and been talking this entire time—how much could they possibly have to say to each other? Unless—were they flirting? Fred saw Hermione laugh at something Ron said, and his masher sped up again as he stared the former couple down.

“Fred!” Fleur bellowed.

“Right you are, Fleur!” Fred took a few breaths to calm himself and slowed his masher down again. He leaned over to George. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

“Hmm? Who?”

“Celestina Warbeck and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Who do you think?”

“Ah.” George followed Fred’s eyeline to Ron and Hermione. “The past, I suppose. Reminiscing. Reliving. Rekindling—”

“Not bloody likely.” Fred grumbled as he focused on not mashing too fast. After a moment, he asked, “Do you think she’s still in love with him?”

George sighed. “I don’t think she ever was in love with him, really. I think she thought it made sense to be with him. Very sensible, your Hermione.”

“Not my Hermione.”

“Not yet. We’ll see what happens.”

“Yeah, but what’s taking her so long? After what happened in her office this week, I’m not sure she’s ready.”

“Yeah, maybe so.”

“What?” Fred wrinkled his nose in consternation and turned to look at his twin brother, who was watching Verity stirring the sauce on the hob. She was lazily turning her wand in circles and shot a wink at George, who grinned caddishly at her while Fred rolled his eyes and threw a bit of mash at George. “Are you even listening?”

George tossed a potato peel at his brother without tearing his eyes from Verity. “Well—yeah, I’m just a bit distracted at the moment.”

“Yeah,” Fred replied, his masher moving slightly faster as he returned his gaze to Ron and Hermione, “me too.”

~*oOo*~

“’Ow are ze vegetables coming, Ron and Hermione?”

“Just fine, Fleur!” Hermione replied, then turned to Ron. They’d broken the ice well, this being the first time they’d actually spent time together since they break-up. Chatting about Hermione’s job and Harry’s lack of knowledge about house-cleaning spells wasn’t going to make them friends again, though.

“So,” Hermione ventured. “How did your date with Susan go the other night?”

“Oh,” Ron focused on chopping vegetables with his wand as his ears turned pink. “I didn’t realize you knew about that. Let me guess—”

“Ginny,” they both said at the same time, and laughed.

“We actually went out last night, too,” Ron admitted, his ears turning pinker.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Wow! Two dates in one weekend—sounds like it’s going well.”

Ron couldn’t contain his smile. “You know, I wasn’t sure what to expect. We didn’t really get to know each other at Hogwarts at all. But… yeah. I like her.”

He blushed, and Hermione laughed and elbowed him. “Glad to hear it.” Ron looked at her in surprise, and she continued, “Seriously! I like her for you. She’s sensible.”

“Fred!” Fleur bellowed, and Ron and Hermione looked over to catch Fred staring at them as his masher was going at warp speed. He looked away quickly as he replied, “Right you are, Fleur,” and returned his masher to normal speed with a few breaths.

Ron nodded toward Fred as he chopped. “How’s that going?”

Hermione paused—was she ready to talk about this with her ex? “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“C’mon, Hermione, you can tell me.”

Hermione shook her head. “There’s nothing. Well… nothing’s happened. There’s nothing to tell,” she finished meekly.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Hermione, you basically ended our relationship over him—”

“I did no such thing!” Hermione hissed.

“—and you’re not even with him? Why?”

Hermione looked at Fred, who had just thrown a bit of mash at George. “Would it bother you if we dated?”

George retaliated with a potato peel and an all-out twin food fight began to ensue across the kitchen as Ron thought for a moment. “Maybe a little at first. I mean, I wasn’t mad about it when you first told me you and Fred had a history. But you’ll always be my friend, Hermione.” He gave her a sweet smile and nodded toward Fred, who was receiving a dressing-down from an irate Fleur as George stifled laughter. “And he’ll always be my big idiot brother.” As realization dawned on him, he continued, “ _And_ you did that massive spell for him, basically raised him from the dead—”

“Alright, you’ve stated your case!” Hermione laughed and chucked a carrot at Ron playfully.

“’Ermione, zat is it!” Fleur exploded. “If you Weasleys cannot keep your food fighting to a minimum, we will be ‘aving Weasel confit at ze next gathering!”

At that moment, Molly popped her head into the kitchen, a sloshing glass of fairy wine in her hand. “Is everything alright in here?”

Fleur instantly beamed and walked toward Molly to usher her out. “Everything is just fine, Molly, just sit back and relax, _s’il vous pla_ _ît!”_

Hermione felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips as she returned to chopping carrots, watching Fred pick a potato peel out of his hair. She now had the explicit approval of two Weasley siblings (probably three, if you counted George) to snog their brother—maybe it was time she did something about it.

~*oOo*~

After dinner, the family sat in the living room while the Weasleys sampled Fred and George’s newest candies, most of which Hermione had already tried. Ron gasped as the Pop Rockets he’d put on his tongue exploded into tiny pink and green fireworks in front of his face, and Bill gestured emphatically when he discovered his mouth had been glued shut by the Tacky Taffy he’d eaten. George uttered the releasing charm and Bill rubbed his mouth, laughing. “Ingenious, boys!”

Hermione rose to walk to the drinks cart for more fairy wine. And, if she was honest, because she’d spotted Fred next to the drinks cart. She poured herself some fairy wine and offered the bottle to Fred. “Top you up?”

“No thanks,” he grinned as he clinked glasses with her. “I can’t keep up with you tonight.” As Hermione smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, Fred leaned forward and whispered, “I have something to tell you.”

Hermione’s mouth went dry, and she subconsciously licked her lips. “What is it?”

Fred shook his head and whispered directly in her ear, “Sensitive information, highly classified. Come to my flat after dinner and I’ll tell you everything.” He stepped back and winked at her.

Hermione nodded and took a sip of her wine—she was pretty sure she knew exactly what Fred wanted to tell her, and she struggled to maintain an even expression as her stomach did backflips.

~*oOo*~

Hermione stepped through the floo into the twins’ flat, followed shortly by Fred, who gestured toward the couching in their parlor. “Have a seat.”

She smiled and sat as Fred took a seat next to her and George and Verity came tumbling through the floo together, giggling. Fred raised his eyebrows at his brother, who caught the look and turned to his girlfriend. “Right, love—I can tell where we’re not needed. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Forgie boy!” he called as he escorted Verity to his bedroom.

Hermione fumbled with her hands in her lap, unsure of how to proceed. The first question she could think of was: “So how are your symptoms?”

“Better,” Fred replied, and they did seem to be—every time she got nearer to him, she could start to feel the warmth of his body.

“Even the dreams?” Hermione pressed.

Fred cracked a small smile. “Yeah, for the most part.” He leaned back and observed her carefully. “How are things with my baby brother?”

“Better,” Hermione responded with a grin. “We had a lovely chat in the kitchen.”

“I noticed.”

“Oh!” Hermione leaned forward, a teasing sparkle in her eyes. “Jealous?”

Fred snorted in bemusement. “I never thought I’d be jealous of Ron.”

 _I’ll take that as a yes,_ Hermione thought smugly. “We talked about how he’s moved on. And how maybe I should too,” she ventured.

“That’s big of him,” Fred remarked with a hint of sarcasm. “What do you think?”

Hermione smiled sweetly and leaned toward Fred on the couch. “I think you had something you wanted to tell me.”

Fred leveled his eyes with hers, and heat started to pool in her stomach. “I did. But first, I have a question.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Okay… well, what is it?”

“Why did you do it?”

“What? Do what? Fred, what are you playing at—”

Fred held a finger to her lips and stopped her. “Hermione, you performed a spell to save my life—”

“Resurrect you,” she corrected in a muffled voice. His finger felt warm on her lips.

He grinned. “Resurrect me, fine. And I haven’t asked you why. I haven’t even thanked you, have I?” He withdrew his finger and searched her eyes.

Hermione shook her head. “I’m sure it was a shock—it’s alright, Fred, you don’t have to—”

“Why did you do it?” he asked insistently.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth. “I—I saw how George was grieving and he needed my help, and—we all missed you so much, and of course I had to help if I could.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “Is that it, then? You agreed to play the part of my mourning lover—”

“Well—”

“—in the spell, and you did it because my family missed me, did you?”

Hermione bit her lip. She knew exactly what he wanted her to say, but she was finding it exceedingly difficult to actually say it. Why was this so hard?

“C’mon, Hermione,” Fred said more softly, leaning in to touch a tendril of her curls. “You must know how I feel about you. I’m the one in the dark here.”

Fred’s blue eyes cut right through her. “God, Fred, I—I’m so sorry I couldn’t—but of course I couldn’t say, I was with Ron and—”

“You’re not with Ron now.” Fred inched closer to her on the couch. “Go on, Hermione—why did you save me? If not for George or Ron or my family, then why?”

“Because I fucking missed you, alright!” Hermione blurted. “I did, me, Hermione Granger, I missed you, you g—”

Fred grabbed her face and kissed her deeply, stopping her mid-rant. He pulled away, grinning widely. “I fucking missed you too.” And his mouth was on hers again, warm and soft as his hands wrapped around the small of her back and pulled her closer to him. Hermione tangled her hands in his hair and wondered briefly how she could have ever resisted this—their bodies seemed to fit perfectly, pressed up against one another with the urgency of their kiss.

When they pulled away, Hermione smiled and asked, “Was that all you wanted to say?”

Fred paused a moment. “Actually, no…” Hermione had hooked her hands into the waistband of his trousers. “But that can wait—something much more important has come up.”

Hermione glanced down and giggled. “I’ll say.”

With a grin, Fred pulled her to him as his lips descended on hers, and he lowered her to lay back on the couch as he climbed on top of her. With a gentle nibble of her lower lip, he moved his kisses to her jaw, her neck, her earlobe. Between kisses, he exhaled, “Merlin, you’re warm.”

Hermione smirked as she writhed under his touch. “That’s your doing, I think.”

Fred laughed and sat up, pulling her to sit flush against him. “Right, how did that spell go? Body of the lover…”

“Given as a gift,” Hermione breathed, their lips almost touching. She raised her arms, and Fred lifted her shirt over her head.

He drank in the sight of her creamy brown skin against her black bra. “Happy Christmas to me,” he said with a lopsided grin. As his hands began to explore her bare skin, Hermione captured his lips in another kiss. He held her close and turned them both quickly to the right. As he did, Hermione felt the pull of Apparition in her stomach and held on close, and when they landed, she pulled away and realized they were in Fred’s bedroom, still very much entangled and seated on top of his bed.

“Fred! Warn a girl first!” She playfully smacked him on the chest.

Fred flashed a roguish smile. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Hermione nearly growled and kissed him punishingly, biting his lip as she felt his hand reach under her bra and caress her nipple. When she felt him unhook her bra, she pushed him back on the bed and straddled him, removing her bra and shaking her voluminous curls against her bare shoulders. She leaned forward and nibbled his ear, feeling it instantly warm under her touch. Each new part of him she encountered seems to warm and thaw with her caress, and she intended to warm every part of his body. Her hands travelled up his shirt, aching for contact with his bare skin. “Gods, Hermione,” he moaned.

Fred shifted and flipped them over so that he straddled Hermione, bare chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as she locked eyes with his. She wanted all of his clothes gone, and he seemed to agree, because he pulled his shirt over his head and helped her remove his trousers. Hermione sat back and observed his naked body, pale and lithe, for the first time. “Damn,” she breathed, impressed, and bit her lip subconsciously.

Fred grinned. “Same to you.” He set to work removing her trousers and pants, taking his time. He kissed her hips, her thighs, moving achingly slowly until he finally kissed her clit. Hermione breathed in deeply, a jolt of pleasure racing through her. Fred smirked and gently sucked, earning him a small moan of pleasure from Hermione. Each flick of his tongue set Hermione’s senses on fire, and as the pressure began to build, she writhed under his touch. One of Fred’s hands traveled up to her breast, cupping and massaging it as with his other hand, he slipped a finger inside her. Hermione gasped as he began to work his finger in time with his mouth, and the pressure swelled and heat pooled inside her until she came, panting and glistening. She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled him back to her, kissing him deeply and tasting herself on his tongue. Fred pulled back and stroked her hair. “Gods, I could watch you do that all day. So sexy.”

Hermione smiled and kissed him again as her hand roamed down to his cock. She teased him at first, lightly touching the tip as he breathed in sharply. She smirked as she felt heat start to spread and grasped it more firmly, stroking up and down and placing the head of his cock right at her entrance. Fred looked barely able to contain himself, and she leaned toward his ear to whisper, “I want you,” and nibble his earlobe. Fred groaned as he pushed her back on the bed, murmured a quick contraceptive spell, and thrust into her. Hermione gasped as she felt his cock fill her, felt her stomach start to tighten again. He kept his strokes slow at first, his body close to hers, heat coursing between them. He pressed back as he quickened his pace, staring into her eyes and clasping one of her hands, interlacing his fingers with hers. Hermione could feel the pressure building again and sent her other hand to her clit, stroking herself as Fred watched her hungrily. “I’m close,” she whispered to him.

Fred kept his pace, watching her touching herself. “Yes, come for me, Hermione.”

She stared into his eyes until she couldn’t hold it any longer, and let out a loud moan as she came again, her walls shuddering around his cock. Fred pumped into her harder as she came, his skin hot all over, until he came inside her with a grunt. Hermione watched him come, thinking she’d never seen anything so sexy. He was so passionate, so focused on pleasing her.

Fred laid down, spent, next to Hermione and laid a hand on her stomach, pulling her close. “That was better than I ever imagined,” he breathed in his post-climax stupor.

Hermione smiled and stroked his face. “Definite fireworks.” She stared into his eyes, blinking as she realized something. “Fred—your eyes are still blue. I thought, maybe…”

Fred sighed and pulled her closer. “Ah well. I did too, a bit. I guess that wasn’t what we needed to do to seal our bond.”

Hermione’s eyes twinkled. “We could always try again.”

Fred grinned. “I like the way you think. We’ll keep testing it.”

They fell silent for a moment, blissfully cuddling with each other. Hermione shook her head. “I can’t believe that just happened. I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

“Same here. Was it everything you expected?” Fred raised an eyebrow.

“Better.” She leaned forward and kissed him.

Fred gasped suddenly and pulled back. “I forgot! I do have something really important to tell you!”

Hermione giggled. “Is it about how much you missed me, because you’re very good at expressing yourself in that department.”

“Love, I’m thrilled I fully got my message across,” Fred smiled as he stroked her hair, “but sadly, no—this is about Umbridge.”


	20. Truth or Dare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait--but I've been building to this for a while and I wanted to get it right :) 
> 
> I may have to post biweekly from here on out--I'm a teacher and I've been mega stressed and struggling to handle my anxiety lately. Please know that I love and appreciate ALL of you for reading this story, and I can't wait to take you through the twists and turns yet to come :) Comment your theories/predictions/general reactions if you'd like!

“Godric, yes!”

“Fuck!”

“How do you like that, Malfoy?”

“Fine, fine, ten points to you.” Malfoy wiped a bead of sweat off his brow as he watched Harry fly a loop-de-loop in celebration of scoring. “Let’s see you do it again.”

“Fine by me,” Harry grinned, then his gaze drifted past Draco’s ear. Draco turned, thinking he’d seen the snitch and searching for a hint of gold. Harry snatched the quaffle from Draco’s grasp and sped off toward the left hoop, scoring another ten points before Draco could catch him.

“You’re tricky enough to be a Slytherin,” Draco grumbled.

“Funnily enough, the Sorting Hat told me as much,” Harry responded brightly. “Had enough?”

Draco shook his head and sped off with the quaffle. “Not remotely.” He reached the outer edge of the practice pitch on the Malfoy grounds and turned around, seeing Harry take his place in front of the hoops. Suddenly, Draco blinked as the snitch flew directly in front of his face, and he dropped the quaffle as he went to grab it, missing it by an inch. He raced off in its direction, and he could hear Harry flying closer as he kept his eyes on the golden winged ball. It was within his reach as Harry gained on him, side-by-side and close enough to knock him off his broom if he wanted. Draco stretched his hand out and finally grasped the snitch before Harry did, swooping down and holding it triumphantly for his opponent to see. “One hundred fifty points—and the game—to me, I believe.”

Harry smiled and shook his head. “Fair play to you, Malfoy—that was a great chase.”

Draco smirked. “Well, you put up a good fight.” He glanced up at the sky. “It’s getting dark. Ready for tea?”

They swooped down and walked to the Manor from the grounds, rehashing the match they’d just played and chatting about the recent match between the Wimbourne Wasps and Puddlemere United, which had been a real nail-biter until the Wasps clinched their victory with a snitch catch. Draco eyed the raven-haired wizard as he animatedly discussed the Puddlemere seeker’s missteps, noticing the glistening sweat on his bare shoulders and the muscles of his arms. _Salazar, Draco, get a hold of yourself,_ Draco chided himself as they walked. _Just look straight ahead for a while._

Dottie had arranged tea for them in the parlor, and regarded their sweaty appearances with some disdain as they arrived. “Remember what Mistress has said, Master Draco—”

“Ah—quite right, Dottie.” Draco waved a careless hand over himself and Harry, and the sweat evaporated from their skin and clothes as they were imbued with a mountain fresh scent. Dottie bowed and left the room as Draco and Harry sat down.

“So,” Harry began after tucking into a scone, “how was your visit with your father?”

“It went very much how I predicted it would,” Draco sighed, “though I admire Themis’s efforts. My father is simply intransigent.”

“Damn. What’s your next step then?”

“Well, if he won’t settle, Themis reckons we should sue for the Manor, at least. We’ll see how it goes.” Draco wasn’t sure how much he should share with Potter about his suspicions—he certainly had no proof that his father might be influencing Wizengamot members from Azkaban, and no clue how his father might accomplish such a thing. Harry was an auror, after all; he needed to be careful. “Enough about that old prick—how is that Blue Death case coming? I read there was another death—”

“Yeah, a werewolf this time, up in Scotland.” Harry grimaced. “Whoever the killer is, they’re not leaving us any clues. But we’re working with St. Mungo’s to determine the spell the killer is using, which will help—we’ll find them,” he finished determinedly.

“I’m sure you will,” Draco returned thoughtfully. “And how is your red-headed companion?”

“Oh, Ron’s fine,” Harry informed him chipperly, “You know he’s been dating Susan Bones?”

“Delighted to hear it,” Draco offered him a bemused smirk, “but I meant your girlfriend.”

“Oh! She’s fine.” Harry rubbed his neck in thought. “Truthfully, we haven’t been able to write or floo call as much lately—we’ve both just been so busy. I’ve never had to do this long distance thing before—when I didn’t go back to Hogwarts my seventh year, I just broke up with her.”

Draco snorted. “I’m sure she appreciated that.”

“Absolutely detested it,” Harry replied with a smile. “Told me I had a martyr complex.”

“She’s got you figured out, I’ll give her that,” Draco quipped. “Aren’t the Christmas hols coming up?”

“Yeah, in a few weeks. I’m hoping we’ll get to reconnect then,” Harry said, dunking a biscuit in his tea. “How about you? Any blokes sniffing about?”

Draco let out a derisive laugh. “Ha! Always, but I’m far too busy.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Sure, mate.”

“Well, I’ve got endless meetings with my lawyers, making sure my mum doesn’t drive herself crazy all alone here, my father’s continued existence, and my off-putting habit of happening to be a former Death Eater—there’s not a lot of room for romance.”

Harry took a swig of his tea. “Don’t be a dick—you know you’d make time for the right guy.” Draco’s mouth felt dry and he swallowed as Harry continued. “I know! I bet I could set you up with someone brilliant.”

Draco immediately shook his head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think you know my type.”

Harry waved off his protest. “Nonsense, I can spot a fit bloke any day. We could do drinks with the gang Friday night—we haven’t done that in ages! And I could just casually invite someone for you to hit it off with, no pressure.” As Draco shot him a poisonous look, Harry pleaded. “C’mon Draco, I want to help. If I can’t get laid, somebody should.”

Draco sighed airily. “Fine. I suppose if he’s a troll, I could always just obliviate him and sic him on one of you lot instead.”

“There’s that Malfoy charm—who could resist that?”

~*oOo*~

“So you think Umbridge may be using influential magic on the other members of the Wizengamot, and that she’s hiding a dark artifact in a chest in her office,” Hermione mused as she paced Fred’s room, still stark naked. Fred sat back on the bed, finding it terribly difficult to focus on what she was saying. He felt impossibly warm—whatever was going on with him, she seemed to be the cure, and he was perfectly happy to swallow that pill.

“That’s the gist.” Fred put his arms behind his head. “Percy thinks she may be using the dark artifact to influence them, and I suspect she may have gotten it from Malfoy.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Draco?”

“Lucius, more likely.”

“Hang on,” Hermione paused, and Fred drank in the sight of her smooth curves, trying quite hard to concentrate on her words. “We don’t know that—we don’t even know what’s in that chest,” she reasoned, and sat back down on the bed. “Fred, I feel I should tell you—when I was talking with Firenze at Hogwarts, he told me—he told me that the centaurs actually killed Umbridge back in my fifth year, but that she lives again—something cryptic like that. Is it possible that Umbridge died? That this isn’t the real Umbridge we’re dealing with?”

Fred blinked, stunned. “That makes no sense—you lot saw her in the hospital wing, hoofprints and all. Firenze must have gotten his stars and planets crossed.”

Hermione sighed and laid her head on Fred’s bare chest, and warmth radiated through his body from the contact. “Well, whatever’s going on, we need to find out what’s in that chest in her office.”

Fred grinned as he ran his hand through her hair. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

~*oOo*~

“You’ll find Patented Daydream Charms in that aisle—have a nice daydream.” Fred gestured toward the aisle and returned to his thoughts as the customer trotted off. He didn’t need a Daydream Charm today—every spare moment, he was reliving the night before; smelling Hermione’s wild hair, feeling her smooth skin, savoring the taste of her. They’d agreed that she would meet him at the shop as soon as she got off work, and it seemed like the hours had moved so slowly all day as Fred anticipated her arrival. Finally, the door swung open and Fred spied her bushy curls over the crowd. He made his way toward her, trying not to wear the same idiotic grin he’d had all day when he finally saw her. As he arrived, there was little chance of success with that, and he grinned immediately. “Hello miss. Help you find something?”

Hermione smirked. “I’d love a focusing charm—I’ve found myself distracted all day. Can’t imagine why.”

Fred tsked. “Ah, what a shame. We don’t sell focusing charms, but I may have something in the back that will help you. Right this way.”

Hermione giggled as Fred took her hand and led her to the back. As they passed George at the register, he rolled his eyes. “Thank Godric—get him out of here, Hermione. He’s been useless all day.”

“Oi!” Fred shouted. “I helped loads of customers.”

“Got rid of them, more like. The way you waved them off, they couldn’t get away from you fast enough.”

“I’m just efficient, mate.” Fred opened the door to the back shop and gestured for Hermione to enter. He turned to George and said, “I don’t think you’ll need anything from the back for the next half hour or so, yeah?”

George grinned. “Yeah, yeah. Have your fun. You owe me.”

Fred snorted. “Add it to the list—right after ‘resurrected me from the dead.’” He shut the door and headed into the workshop.

Hermione had wandered over to a row of cauldrons whose contents were being lazily stirred by large wooden spoons. As Fred approached, she confided in a low voice, “I met with Percy today. He’s going to call Umbridge to his office tomorrow at 4:30pm to deal with an issue with portkeys for delegates from Romania, something like that. He’ll use the morning to create the issue,” she smirked triumphantly. “I thought you could meet me in my office at 4:15 with some sort of pretense—”

“Quickie at work?” Fred suggested.

“Picking me up for a date, perhaps,” Hermione replied with a raised eyebrow, “and then we can Disillusion ourselves and sneaked into Umbridge’s office to investigate.”

“Great. I’ll gather some helpful items—we’ve got loads of Decoy Detonators still, and other stuff that could come in handy.”

Hermione sniffed the bubbling cauldrons. “What’s this?”

Fred smiled and walked to stand next to her. “These are Truth or Dare potions. We’re making enough stock for the shop—I finally got the balance right for the truth spell to only last one turn and the dares to exclude dangerous or life-threatening suggestions.”

“Hmm.” Hermione leaned over and looked closer at the liquid. “Smells nice. What did you use instead of Jobberknoll feathers?”

“Simple blue jay feathers, actually.”

“Really?” Hermione examined the cauldrons further as Fred grinned—he loved how interested Hermione was in developing new potions and charms. She turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Have you fully tested them?”

“Of course, George and I test everything,” Fred immediately replied, then noted the look on Hermione’s face. “But, we could always use another test run. Just to be sure.”

“Just to be sure,” Hermione repeated with an impish smile on her face. She grabbed a bottle labelled “Truth or Dare” and offered it to Fred, who put two drops on his tongue with the dropper. “Truth or Dare, Fred?”

“Dare.”

Hermione leaned back and grinned playfully. “Vanish all items of clothing you’re wearing except for one—you choose which one.”

“Hah! Simple.” Fred waved his wand over his outfit, vanishing everything but his left sock.

Hermione gasped and laughed, looking appreciatively at his almost entirely naked form. “Not what I thought you’d choose, but it suits you.”

Fred ran a hand through his hair. “Thought you might like it. Your turn,” he added, handing the bottle to Hermione. She put two drops on her tongue. “Truth or Dare?”

Hermione thought for a moment. “Truth.”

“Who’s the best shag you ever had?”

“You,” Hermione replied immediately, then clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh God… well I suppose we definitely know it works.”

Fred allowed himself a tiny fist pump and a “yesssss,” which made Hermione giggled. He walked toward her, took the bottle from her hand, and took another two drops. “Truth. Ask me anything, Hermione.”

She stepped closer so that their faces were inches apart. “Do you want me, right now?”

“Yes,” he breathed, and bent down to kiss her passionately, urgently. Heat was pulsing from their lips and spreading throughout his body—after months of feeling cold and numb, he could hardly bear the sensations of heat he felt when he was simply near Hermione, let alone touching her.

When they pulled apart, Hermione gave him a small smile and took the bottle, giving herself another two drops. “Dare,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

Fred looked around for a moment, then vanished the cauldrons. “Lay down on this table.”

Hermione hopped up on the table and laid down, looking expectantly at Fred. He stood between her legs and leaned over to kiss her, running his hands up her blouse as she undid the buttons. Fred stood up and ran his hands over her bare stomach and up to her breasts, pushing her bra up to expose them. He paused for a moment, simply enjoying the sight of her naked chest, then bent to her, teasing her nipples with his tongue and teeth. She groaned lightly and ran her hands through his hair. Fred smirked as her hips started to writhe beneath him, and he kissed a path down her stomach. When he arrived at her skirt, he pushed it up around her hips and gently pulled her underwear to the side. He began to slowly lick her clit, enjoying every sigh and moan he elicited with each flick of his tongue. He increased his speed and pressure, and reached a hand down to stroke his dick as Hermione bucked and writhed beneath him. Just as it seemed like she was about to come, he stopped and pulled back. “Wha-why…” she asked in a daze.

Fred grinned and bent down to kiss her, pressing his hips into hers. “I wanna be inside you when you come.”

She looked in his eyes and grabbed his hair. “Yes, Fred—fuck, yes.” He kissed her again, then stood back up and lined himself up with her entrance. As he entered her, she gasped, and Fred felt her walls tighten almost immediately. He forced himself to go slowly, gently at first, and brought his thumb to lightly stroke her clit. When she seemed like she could no longer take the tension, he grabbed her waist and began to pound into her, stroking her clit faster and watching her keen under him. She grabbed his arm and braced herself against the wall behind her, her tits bouncing with every thrust. Fred felt her tighten suddenly, then watched her come undone as her walls fluttered around his pounding cock. He kept going, mesmerized by her moans of pleasure and the perfect little “oh” her mouth made as she came, and when he could handle no more, he pulled out and came on her stomach, feeling waves of pleasure and heat radiate through him.

Fred collapsed on top of Hermione, panting as she ran her hands along his back, now glistening with sweat. He allowed himself a few moments to let his breathing return to normal, then pulled back and kissed her sweetly. “You are incredible,” he murmured.

Hermione grinned. “Best you ever had?”

Fred chuckled. “Yep. I don’t need a potion to answer that one.”

~*oOo*~

Hermione held Fred’s hand, both of them Disillusioned as she carefully led him down the hall toward Umbridge’s office. As they began to approach, they could hear Percy’s slightly nasal tone: “I do apologize for the inconvenience, Miss Umbridge. I’m certain if you’ll come with me to Mr. Selwidge’s office, we can straighten this out—”

“Quite right, Mr. Weasley, I’m sure we can. I do hope you aren’t suggesting there was some sort of error on my department’s side—I can assure you there was not,” Umbridge replied with a saccharine smile.

Percy grinned back blandly. “Of course not, Miss Umbridge.”

As Percy held the door open for Umbridge, Fred crept up behind him and let out a small but quite convincing “meow.”

Percy jumped and Umbridge wheeled around, her eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

Percy looked at a loss, then cast about as if looking for something. “I… I don’t know, did you hear that too? Sounded like someone brought their familiar in to work. Tsk tsk, it isn’t Familiar Friday yet.” He ushered Hermione and Fred into the office, feeling Hermione squeeze his arm in confirmation before he closed the door.

Hermione and Fred paused for a few moments just inside the door, listening to make sure they heard the footsteps of Percy and Umbridge heading for the elevator. They undid their Disillusion charms and nodded to each other as they started to quietly look around the room. It was virtually covered with frilly doilies on small tea tables and cushions, and neither was sure which table hid the dark chest Percy had seen. As she searched one corner of the office, Hermione saw Fred take a quill out of his pocket and replace one of Umbridge’s with it. “What’s that?”

“Oh, nothing,” Fred blinked innocently. “Umbridge just might find it difficult to write anything other than ‘I’m an evil toad’ with that particular quill.”

Hermione suppressed a giggle, then continued searching. Fred opened one of the desk drawers and, glancing at Hermione to make sure her back was turned, placed a Slime Surprise in the drawer. The small slimy ball would lie in wait until she opened the drawer, then explode and cover her with viscous goo. He turned his attention to charming the papers on her desk to swirl around her when the small ball was activated, but before he could finish, Hermione called, “Fred! Look!”

Tucked under a small table covered with a purring cat tablecloth was a small dark chest, about a foot and a half wide. The lock looked ancient and complex, and as the two contemplated how to open it, the chest suddenly rattled and moaned.

“Blimey!” Fred gasped, catching his breath. “Bit of a shock. I don’t think this will work, but— _Alohomora.”_

As he predicted, nothing happened. “ _Confringo_!” Hermione called, and again the chest seemed unaffected. “Hmm,” Hermione pondered. “It may be locked with blood magic—only Umbridge or a member of her family could open it, in that case.”

“Well, let’s hope it’s not that,” Fred said, having thrust his wand into the lock and tried to pick it like a muggle criminal. “We’ve only got a few minutes while Perce has her occupied.” He bent down to examine the lock more closely, tracing the rune-like patterns on it with his finger. As he did, the mechanism turned and the chest unlocked and opened. Fred stood upright and looked at Hermione with shock on his face. “I didn’t even do anything!”

Hermione’s brow furrowed as she contemplated this, and the both peered into the chest, which was involved in a complicated unlocking process. It seemed to be many chests nested together, and each one lowered down and down as they unlocked. “This seems like Moody’s chest—the one Harry told us about that Barty Crouch imprisoned the real Moody in,” she said grimly. They knew Umbridge had taken Moody’s eye—apparently that wasn’t the only item of his she’d stolen.

As the final chest unlocked, Fred and Hermione bent over and gazed at the bottom. They both gasped as the saw, bound and whimpering, someone who looked remarkably like Dolores Umbridge blinking back at them.


	21. More Truth

Fred and Hermione blinked in shock as they stared down at Umbridge at the bottom of the chest. “Hermione—do you see—”

“Of course,” Hermione whispered. “Do you think it’s really—”

“Certainly looks like her, but we saw her walk out of this office a few minutes ago. Doesn’t make sense.”

Hermione’s mind whirred. _Polyjuice potion, or transfiguration perhaps? Why would someone pretend to be Umbridge?_ She aimed her wand at the witch. “ _Wingardium Leviosa.”_ She carefully levitated the bound Umbridge out of the chest and set her down on the floor of the office. Umbridge looked at them gratefully, almost kindly, and made a muffled “thank you” sound through her gag.

“What should we do with her?” Fred asked.

“We’ll have to question her, find out what’s really going on,” Hermione reasoned. “Let’s get her out of here.” She aimed her wand at Umbridge again. “ _Petrificus Totalus.”_

The bound witch went rigid, and Hermione replaced the chest under the table, hitting it with a charm that would cause it to shake and moan every so often. “Brilliant,” noted Fred in appreciation. Hermione smirked at him, and the pair disillusioned both themselves and Umbridge as Hermione levitated her out of the office. When they were a safe distance away from Umbridge’s office, they removed the disillusionment charm on themselves and floated the invisible Umbridge alongside them as they headed to the floo, narrowly evading the throng of wizards about to head home at the end of their work day.

~*oOo*~

As they stepped into the twins’ flat, Fred removed the bound witch’s disillusionment charm. Hermione cast about nervously, and Fred spoke, “George and Verity are closing tonight, so he won’t be back until late.” Hermione nodded and levitated the witch, still bound and petrified, into Fred’s room and shut the door. She removed the petrifying spell, and the witch immediately began to squirm uncomfortably, fear in her eyes. Fred whipped his wand, and his desk chair flew behind Umbridge’s knees. “Have a seat,” he growled.

The witch sat, and Hermione coldly flicked her wand to attach the bonds to the chair. Another flick, and Hermione removed the gag from the bound witch’s mouth. The witch gasped and spluttered out a hoarse “thank you.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Fred—the witch’s gratitude sounded genuine, quite unlike the Umbridge they knew as simpering and insincere. She looked sternly back at Umbridge. “Right, we have some questions for you.”

“I’m sure you do,” the witch intoned mockingly. “Ask away.”

Fred nudged Hermione and whispered, “Should we use Veritaserum? I think we have some in the potions cupboard.”

“Yes,” nodded Hermione, staring at the witch’s dark green eyes, “we definitely should.” As Fred hurried to find the potion, Hermione maintained what she hoped was menacing eye contact with Umbridge. She pondered the green eyes staring back at her—she’d thought Umbridge’s eyes were a filmy blue, but perhaps she was mistaken. When Fred returned and handed her the potion, she turned to the witch with a cold look in her eyes. “You know what this is, I presume?”

“Of course,” the witch spat.

“Then you know what it does. We’ll administer three drops to make sure you aren’t lying. ‘You must not tell lies,’ right, Professor?” Hermione taunted.

The bound witch furrowed her brow in what looked like consternation for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine by me.” She opened her mouth, and Hermione tipped the bottle to put three drops of Veritaserum on the witch’s tongue. Immediately a shiver went through the witch, and Hermione knew the potion had taken effect.

“Alright,” Hermione said, standing up. “Let’s get some things straight. We’ll start simple. How long have you been imprisoned?”

“Not sure—didn’t exactly have a calendar handy. Months? A year, maybe two?”

“Why were you imprisoned?” Fred interjected.

The witch’s expression darkened. “Apparently, I pissed off the wrong person. I was only trying to help.”

Hermione shook her head in confusion. Every interaction with this witch seemed out of character with the Umbridge she’d known in fifth year. “Are you the real Umbridge?” she blurted in accusation.

The woman blinked. “What? What do you mean? Of course I’m the real Umbridge!”

Fred and Hermione blinked in shock. Fred leaned to Hermione to whisper, “She doesn’t seem like Umbridge, but she’s under Veritaserum. Maybe she’s resistant to it?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “What is your Patronus?”

“A cat,” the witch answered huffily. Fred and Hermione looked at each other, surprised to find this was the correct answer. Of course, many people must have seen Umbridge’s cat Patronus during the trials of the previous year. “Well, technically it’s a Kneazle,” the witch added, “but it looks just like a cat, apart from the smushed face.”

 _Aha!_ Hermione thought. _Umbridge’s Patronus is definitely a sleek non-magical cat._ Thinking she’d caught the clever witch in a lie, she continued, “What lines did you make Harry write with your Blood Quill?”

The witch blinked in surprise. “My what? Harry who—do you mean Harry Potter? I’ve never met him.”

“Then you can’t possibly be the real Umbridge,” Hermione replied triumphantly. “So the big question is—who are you?”

The witch’s face dawned in realization. “Oh! You don’t know, of course you don’t—I suppose most people don’t remember, and many have never met me.” She looked at them both with a softer expression. “My name is Dorothea Umbridge. I’m Dolores’s twin sister.”

~*oOo*~

Fred and Hermione’s mouths dropped open in shock. Fred stammered, “What? A twin?”

“How is this possible?” Hermione demanded.

“Surely we would have known—”

“Is there some reason Umbridge would hide a twin—”

“This doesn’t make any sense!” Fred slammed a fist on his desk. “Why would Umbridge imprison you? What did you do?”

“Hang on,” Hermione put a hand on Fred’s shoulder, her brain puzzling it out, “if Umbridge imprisoned her, then Dorothea probably got in her way somehow. She might be on our side.”

The witch’s eyebrows raised. “I can’t tell you that until I know which side you two are on. And call me Thea,” she added, “I always hated the name ‘Dorothea.’”

“Okay… Thea,” Hermione continued cautiously. “We can certainly tell you that we’re not on the side of your sister. She was our professor at Hogwarts, and she delighted in torturing the students mentally, emotionally, and physically.”

Thea shook her head sadly. “I expected as much, but I wasn’t sure. She was always a bit… well…” she struggled to find the words. “But when she came back from teaching at Hogwarts, she was worse—much worse than before.”

“Hard to imagine that Umbridge was ever any better,” Fred quipped.

“She was,” Thea assured him. “We were quite close as children—twins often are, you know.” Fred and Hermione glanced at each other, the same thought passing between them—apparently, Thea didn’t recognize Fred as a famous war hero Weasley twin.

“We could perform great magic together,” Thea continued, “quite powerful. Most magical children find that their magic explodes in fits and starts with their emotions, with no wand to focus their power. But twins have each other for focus, and we could do incredible things. We’d play tricks on our parents—switch their sugar and salt, turn their house keys into hummingbirds, find our Christmas presents early and duplicate them, so we could play with them in secret.” Thea’s eyes sparkled with the memories. “Of course, it couldn’t last forever. Dolores and I were sorted into different houses at Hogwarts. She was sorted into Slytherin with the likes of Lucius Malfoy and Selene Greengrass, while I was sorted into Hufflepuff. Dolores started to become ambitious, power-hungry even—and she stopped wanting to spend time with me,” she concluded, a hint of bitterness in her voice. “I swear, that house is a bad influence. Dolores was a good and kind witch, in the beginning.”

“Why have we never heard of you before?” Fred asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

The witch shrugged. “My sister and I have followed very different paths. She sought the spotlight, and I have always wanted to be in the background. I discovered I have a soft spot for magical creatures—is Professor Kettleburn still teaching Care of Magical Creatures?”

Hermione shook her head. “He retired. Hagrid teaches it now— _Professor_ Hagrid, that is.”

“Really?” Thea brightened. “Professor Hagrid. That’s wonderful, I had no idea.” She smiled to herself as she continued. “Well, at Kettleburn’s suggestion, I took a post on a dragon reserve in China after graduating from Hogwarts. I tended the dragons and researched the magical properties of dragon fire. Incidentally,” her eyes narrowed as she looked more closely at Fred. “You wouldn’t happen to be a Weasley, would you?”

Fred tried to keep his expression neutral as his heart pounded. “I might. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’ve heard of Charlie Weasley’s work with dragon flight habits in Romania, of course,” the witch continued excitedly. “I thought you might know him. Or perhaps—are you Charlie? I’ve never seen a picture of him.”

Fred grinned and shook his head. “No, but he’s my brother—he’ll be delighted to know someone’s actually heard of him.”

“Oh, anyone who works with dragons has heard of Charlie Weasley!” Thea laughed. “His research is seminal.”

Hermione stepped in to steer the conversation away from Fred’s identity. “Right—but how did you come to be imprisoned in a chest in Umbridge’s office?”

“Ah,” the witch said reluctantly, still under the effects of the Veritaserum. “I was working on the reserve, and I felt this odd pull—right at the center of my stomach—and a coldness. It was almost like the center of me had been cut out, or went numb so I couldn’t feel it.” She swallowed. “I just knew something was wrong with Lolo.”

Fred wrinkled his nose. “Who’s Lolo?”

“Dolores—that was her nickname when we were kids. She hates when I call her that.” The witch smiled sadly. “As soon as I could get away, I apparated, concentrating on where the pull in my stomach was leading me. I ended up in Hogsmeade, and followed the pull into the Forbidden Forest. When I heard the sound of hoofbeats, I disillusioned myself and hid behind a tree.” Thea was pale as she recounted her tale, “I saw a centaur herd standing in a circle, with one centaur on a tall tree stump—a tribunal, I knew from my magical creatures research. Centaurs conduct these kinds of trials when a crime against their laws is committed,” she explained. “Then I saw my sister in the center of their circle… lying on the ground unmoving, bloody and bruised.” Her voice cracked. “After all that had happened, to see her like that was still…” She trailed off, then collected herself. “Well, I waited, still disillusioned, till the centaurs left, and then ran to my sister. She looked dead, and there wasn’t a pulse—but I remember, I just couldn’t believe it. So I carried her back to Hogwarts, and the first person I saw was Filch roaming the grounds—is he still at Hogwarts?”

“Yes,” Hermione ground her teeth. “Unfortunately.”

“Well, I’ll admit, he’s not my favorite bloke either,” Thea agreed, “but I owe him a lot for what he did for my sister. I think he was confused at first, seeing two Umbridge’s instead of one. But when he saw my sister’s state, he became distraught. It was clear that he cared for her, and I asked for his help in healing her. He was wailing, crying out, ‘She’s dead, she’s dead,’” Thea shuddered. “I told him I could save her, and asked if he’d help us. He took us to his small hut on the grounds, and I began to work a certain spell. I don’t want to go into details,” she eyed them carefully, “but it’s been in my family for generations.”

“What family?” Hermione asked quickly, hoping the Veritaserum was still strong.

“The Prewetts, on my mother’s side,” Thea answered immediately, then grimaced. Fred grabbed Hermione’s hand tightly as they stared at Thea, trying to keep shock from registering on their faces. “Please,” Thea continued, her eyes swimming, “let me keep some of my family’s secrets.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, softening a little. “You don’t have to tell us how the spell works. But what did the spell do?”

“It brought my sister back from the dead,” Thea croaked, blinking out a few tears. “I left Filch alone with my sister to get a book I needed, as well as some supplies. When I came back, I overheard him tearfully confessing his love for her. Without going into too much detail,” she hedged, “this spell requires a sacrifice from a lover. I’m not proud of what I asked him to do—but I had to save my sister’s life. I felt so empty without her.”

Fred nodded. “I can understand that.”

“I don’t know if you can,” Thea whispered. “Twins are born sharing a piece of their souls, you see. Lolo and I performed a spell to keep our pieces of each other’s souls in these cat necklaces we had as children, and that’s what I used to bring her back. I had a piece of her soul still with me.”

“Where are the necklaces now?” Hermione breathed.

“Dolores kept them both. It took a few days, but we were able to resurrect her using the spell. At first, she just seemed confused,” Thea shuddered, “but then she became irate. She was furious that her soft, blood-traitor sister and a squib saved her. We’re only half-blood, for Merlin’s sake.” Thea shook her head. “She pelted us with insults and degradations, swearing to me that if we didn’t keep this incident a secret, she’d make us regret it, and she ran back to the Forbidden Forest to seek revenge on the centaurs. Filch was distraught, but I told him to run and get Dumbledore—to tell him that he’d find my sister in the Forbidden Forest, having been attacked by centaurs. She was still covered in their hoofprints,” she choked back a sob.

“And you never told anyone?” Hermione asked breathlessly.

Thea shook her head. “No, but I knew I had to keep an eye on my sister. I left my job at the reserve to try and find a way to work at the Ministry, to keep my sister close. But I couldn’t let her know, of course, so I transfigured myself to look like a man and applied for an opening in the Magical Creatures department. I kept my resume points all the same, but I’m ashamed to say I altered the memory of my former boss at the reserve so that he knew me as my new identity, Pollux Diemburg—” Hermione stifled her gasp—her boss’s former much-beloved colleague was Umbridge’s secret twin sister? This was starting to remind her of a muggle soap opera. “It was such a pain to transfigure myself all the time—a ton of effort,” Thea complained. “There were several times I was at work when my transfigured straight hair would start to curl, or my nose would shrink, and I’d have to run to my office to change myself back.”

Fred briefly wondered if he should tell Thea about Metamorphmakeup—it would certainly have solved her transfiguration effort problem to have a bit of powder she could simply reapply all day. “Anyway,” Thea went on, “I was able to watch my sister’s movements closely. During the next year, she was promoted to Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, Scrimgeour at the time. But of course, he was killed, and the ministry fell. It became a much darker place to work after that.”

“Around the time the Scrimgeour was killed back in September, I found the body of an elf I’d been working with—I was working on these house elf civil rights laws, you see—”

“Yes!” Hermione interjected excitedly.

Thea wrinkled her brow in confusion, then continued. “Yes, well, the elf, Kadie, was a dear friend—our family house elf growing up, actually. And I when I returned to my family’s home one day, I found her dead in a most unusual way, ice cold and blue.” Fred and Hermione squeezed each other’s hands tighter; it sounded like an early Blue Death case, like the ones Harry and Ron were currently working on. “I know it’s awful, but I thought my sister may have been far gone enough to have caused Kadie’s death. She detested my legislation, and had threatened Kadie, openly accusing her of rising above her station at the laws’ Wizengamot hearing. Well, when I found Kadie, I couldn’t take it anymore. I barged into Dolores’s office at the Ministry, still transfigured as Pollux, all heated and fuming, and she sat there so calm—almost as if she expected me.” Thea swallowed. “I asked her what she did to Kadie, and she said, ‘A more merciful thing than I’ll do to you, Dorothea.’ You see, she had this magical eye, the one that belonged to the famous auror, Mad-Eye Moody. It can see through transfigured people.” She sighed. “She’d known who I was for weeks, ever since he died and she got the eye. While I was still reeling from this revelation, Dolores removed my transfiguration spell, bound me, and locked me in that chest, where I waited until you two rescued me.”

Hermione and Fred stood open-mouthed, staring at Thea and trying to piece together the incredible story they’d just heard. After a pause, Thea inquired, “So how long have I been locked up? Did I miss anything important?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, my loves! I hope this answers some of your burning questions from the last chapter :) excited to continue this story!


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